The Collection
by Aggie Escott
Summary: Three of our brave agents are called to collect an UnSub and bring him back for trial. Things go wrong and our boys are in trouble again! Whump & Psychowhump! Rated K plus. Might change it later. Please read and review for me. I love to hear from you!
1. Boat Trip

**THE COLLECTION**

Chapter 1Boat Trip

"_**They sicken of the calm, who know the storm" - Dorothy Parker **_

"And since we helped track him down, we've been asked by the director to bring him in." Strauss clasped her hands in front of her on the desk and eyed Hotchner, waiting for his reply. He stood stiffly to attention and watched a bug crawling up the wall behind her. It reminded him of himself. He waited a few seconds for his annoyance to die down before he spoke. He and Strauss were not the best of mates.

"With all due respect, Ma'am, we are profilers, not errand boys to run back and forth ferrying UnSubs." He took a deep breath, and went on, "Who do you want to do the ferrying?"

She stood up, trying to be intimidating and failing. "You are the Unit Chief. As such, I think you can choose the team."

_Damn it. I walked right into that one!_

"I'll present it to the team, and we'll decide together who I should take with me."

"I don't expect you to go." she said, surprised.

"I would never ask a team member to do anything that I'm not prepared to do myself." He almost added that it was good leadership, but he thought it might be best not to antagonise her. They scowled at each other for a moment, and then she said he could go. He bowed his head briefly and left the room. He realised that his fists were clenched. He hated being second guessed. He went to his office, counted to ten, and called Jareau.

"I need three copies of the Jeffrey Hunt file please," he said, "In the conference room in ten minutes."

He went out onto the walkway, and called his team together. He wasn't looking forward to this.

Reid quickly made himself and Emily some coffee, and they assembled in the conference room. When everyone had settled down, JJ came in and gave Hotch the files. He nodded slightly as a thank you, and she left.

He put the files down in front of him. "You are all familiar, too familiar probably, with the Jeffrey Hunt Case." He glanced around the room to nods of agreement. "When he escaped, he fled to Acuera Island, where there is a small community, mostly native Americans. He has been arrested by the law keeping force on the island. We have been asked to go to the small island ten miles off the east coast of Florida, to pick up Jeffrey Hunt, and bring him back here for trial."

"We've been asked?" Morgan said, frowning. "When did that come into our job description?"

"Orders from above, I'm afraid." Hotch said. "There is a small police force on the island, but they are not equipped to handle this. We need to go and collect him asap." He looked around at the team. "I would like Reid to come with me, and I would like a volunteer."

"Count me in," Dave said, "That is unless anyone else fancies a trip?"

Morgan and Emily managed to look away without actually moving. Hotch gave them a few seconds t make up their minds. When there were no objections, he gave a file to Reid and Rossi.

"Ok, wheels up thirty minutes. We fly down to Florida, and get a boat out to the island." he said. "The trip out should be quite nice, as long as the sea isn't too rough."

As they left the conference room, Hotch felt a hand on his arm.

"Be careful, Aaron." Emily said, worry in her eyes. "Hunt is an evil SOB."

-0-0-0-

Three hours later Hotch, Reid and Rossi were standing by a police owned motor launch, waiting for the local officer who was going to take them out to the island. Hotch had called the island police had told them of their imminent arrival. To say they sounded relieved was an understatement if ever there was one. Serial killers were unheard of there, and having Hunt on their island scared them. Hotch could understand. Just looking at Hunt made his hair prickle on the back of his neck.

Reid and Dave were deep in conversation, probably about one of Dave's books. Aaron was pleased that Dave was taking time now to talk to Reid about them. He remembered when Dave first joined the team he was a little overwhelmed by the almost hero worship he received from Reid, and didn't quite know how to handle it. Now he saw the genuine interest that Reid had was just part of his never ending quest for knowledge. When their driver arrived, Aaron left Reid and Dave chatting, and he went to introduce himself.

"I am SSA Aaron Hotchner, Those are my team members, the older one is SSA David Rossi, and with him is SSA Doctor Spencer Reid."

The cop put out his hand to shake. "Detective Brian Watson. How soon do you want to leave?" He was a little taller than Aaron, blue eyes, and fair freckly skin. His grey hair was tinged with red, and he didn't look comfortable in the Miami heat. He wore a long sleeved white shirt and light blue jeans and a baseball cap. He looked hot, and Hotch wondered how hot he himself looked in his impeccable dark suit and tie.

Hotch checked the time. "How long does it take to get there?"

"About an hour and a half, allowing for weather and tides. If we leave in the next half hour we should easily be back here before night fall."

That sounded good to Hotch. He wanted to get back as soon as possible. He was due a day off tomorrow, and there was a circus in town. He had got tickets to take Jacky. He smiled to himself as he imagined Jacky's sweet little face light up with excitement when he saw where Daddy was going to take him. He hadn't told him, in case he couldn't make it for whatever reason. He didn't want to hand Haley ammunition on a plate. She had enough already without him giving her more.

They walked together across the yard to the boat, and Reid and Rossi joined them, and Aaron introduced them to Brian.

"David Rossi the writer?"

Dave, as always when this happened, looked embarrassed. He nodded and turned away quickly before Brian had the chance to say anything else. He often wished he had used a pen name to publish, but at the time, he had no intention of coming back to the BAU, and so he didn't think it would matter. He was most discomfited when total strangers recognised him from his picture on the dust jackets, and quoted chunks of the book back at him. He smiled to himself as he remembered his reaction to Reid when he first started back. He could actually quote the whole book and he had found this very intimidating.

He was used to it now, and actually enjoyed his obvious extreme interest.

The four men stepped down onto the deck of the boat. Brian took them below where there was a small barred cell where Hunt would be spending the trip back. Aaron inspected it, and he could foresee no problems. He thought the most dangerous part would be the drive from the police station to the boat. When he was satisfied with the security arrangements, he went up on deck and sat with Dave and Spencer. Dave was in jeans and shirt sleeves, and Reid had his tie pulled down to the second button, and his sleeves were rolled up. It was very hot, and Aaron considered removing his jacket, and decided not to. Haley had told him that his suit was a psychological shield, something that he hid behind, making social contact less of an ordeal. He often wondered if she was right.

So he sat on the deck drinking the lemonade that Dave had got for him, sweltering in his suit.

_Damn you Haley! Why do you have to be right all the time?_

Reid lay back with his eyes closed behind his huge sunglasses, and Dave sat with his elbows on his knees staring out at the flat blue sea. Aaron sat beside him, holding his glass.

"It makes me uneasy, Aaron. All this peace and quiet."

"I know what you mean. The calm before the storm do you think?" Hotch said. "I can't actually enjoy anything any more. All through the calm, I'm waiting for the storm all the time."

"The job gets to you, doesn't it?" Dave said. "I didn't think you'd still be here. When I applied to come back, I was surprised and pleased that we'd be working together again."

Aaron thought back to when they first met, half a lifetime ago. Dave had been a good teacher to him. When it had been suggested to him that Rossi should be back on the team, Aaron was delighted. He had a lot of love and respect for the man, and even more so that he was happy to work with Aaron, one of his students, as his boss. Aaron was glad to be able to defer to his greater experience. It was nice to have him on the team.

The sound of Reid snoring made them turn around. "We ought to wake him up, I think, before he gets burnt." Aaron said.

Dave reached out his arm and shook him awake. "Don't get burnt, Reid."

"Oh…uh….thank you, Rossi." He sat up and shuffled forward and sat beside the others. "Are we nearly there yet?"

Aaron gave him a sidelong glance; Dave said, "About ten minutes, I think." He called to Brian at the controls. "How much further, Captain?"

"If you look straight ahead of us, you can see the island on the horizon."

The three agents moved to the front of the boat and squinted across the bright sea to the faint outline of the island, a dark smudge where the sky met the sea.

"We'll be there in ten." Brian informed them. "Will you want to stay for a while? We can spend three hours and still be back before it gets dark."

"We'll collect Hunt. And leave right away." Hotch said. "The sooner this is over the better."

_The calm before the storm? Please, let's hope not._


	2. Acuera Island

The Collection  
Chapter 2  
Acuera Island

"_**How I wish that somewhere there existed an island for those who are wise and of good will" - Albert Einstein **_

The cop who met them at the harbour looked about ready for retirement. He was about sixty; long grey hair tied back and weather beaten face, and very much a Native American. He shook their hands in a friendly but official manner and introduced himself as sergeant Flyer.

"I have a car here to take you back."

"I'll stay here with the boat." Brian said. "I need to check some things out."

Hotch inclined his head in acknowledgement, and he, Reid and Rossi went with Flyer to the car, a red Mustang. Reid's eyes went wide with approval.

"Very nice!" said Dave, running his hand along the sleek lines. "We get SUV's!"

"It's mine. We don't get cars supplied." Flyer laughed. "There's not a lot to spend money on out here. Crime rate is very low too. Which is why this came as such a shock!"

"How did Hunt get here?" Hotch inquired as he got in the front beside Flyer.

"He had a little boat. We've impounded it. Do you want to toe it back to the mainland?"

"Yes, if you could arrange that, we'd be grateful."

It didn't take long to get to the town, as they liked to call it. Flyer stopped outside a small purpose built brick building, and Hotch asked if they could pick up Hunt right away.

"We won't be taking him back in the Mustang, will we?"

Flyer pointed to a van parked nearby. It had been converted into a prisoner transport van, and Hotch indicated to the others to go and check it out. He didn't want any surprises en route. It wasn't that he didn't trust Flyer and his team, but they weren't used to dealing with people like Hunt.

Flyer watched briefly as Dave and Spencer crossed to the van, and then he turned to Hotch. "This way, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you." Hotch replied, and followed Flyer into the building.

Down stairs in the basement, there was one cell, and a guard sitting outside playing solitaire. It reminded Hotch of a sheriff's office and jail cell in the old westerns. There was a guitar leaning against the wall. The guard stood up when Flyer came down the steps. Hotch had to suppress surprise that he looked nothing like Gene Autry.

Hunt was sitting at a bolted down table in the cell. He had been cuffed and his ankles were chained. He wouldn't be running anywhere, and certainly not swimming! Hunt looked at Hotch, eyes blazing with pure malice.

"I see that you remember me." Hotch said, taking his side arm from his belt as the guard unlocked the door. Hunt was pulled to his feet by the guard and Flyer walked behind him and they left the cell. Hunt didn't take his eyes off Hotch, and as he passed him on leaving the cell, he pulled towards him.

"It won't always be this easy." he hissed. "Remember you have a family!"

Hotch didn't react outwardly to this threat. It had happened before. But this man had killed seven members of a family, ages from seventy eight down to three months - because he had an argument with the father. As well as the women he raped and killed.. Inwardly Hotch's guts twisted with fear. He would call Morgan and ask him to arrange a watch for Haley and Jack

_This is where it gets nasty……._

"Keep walking!" Flyer pushed Hunt towards the steps. Hunt scowled at him, and walked forwards

As they climbed the steps, Hotch heard the guard strum a cord on the guitar. Very atmospheric!

Hotch followed Hunt and Flyer out to the van. Reid came over to Hotch. "Security looks fine on the van." he said. "Do you want me to ride in the back with Hunt?"

"Yes." Hotch said, "And Dave, I will be driving." he turned to Flyer and shook his hand.

"Glad to see the back of that one." Flyer said.

"This is the most dangerous part of the journey." Hotch said. "I will drive the van, and leave it at the harbour. It is not necessary to put you in danger."

"But I…."

"We are trained for this kind of thing, you are not. Thank you again for the smooth arrangements, and I hope that nothing like this happens again."

Flyer gripped Hotch's hand. "And thank you, Agent Hotchner, for coming so quickly."

Reid took Hunt by the elbow and steered him to the back of the van. Hunt started to laugh.

"So is this 'take your kid to work' week?" he said looking at Reid with distain.

"Get in the van." Reid said. When he was in, Reid clipped the ankle chain to the bar that ran along the length of the van under the seat. Then he and Rossi sat opposite him, where they could watch every movement. Both agents had their hands on their guns. Aaron pushed the doors closed, and they heard the locks spring across. Hotch went round to the front of the van and climbed into the driving seat.

"Are you all secure in the back?" he asked.

"Yes, and ready to go." said Dave. Hotch started the engine, and began the short drive back to the harbour.

-0-0-0-

As the Mustang pulled up in front of the police building, Brian was doing a quick check of the engine. It had been making a noise on the way over. Probably nothing, but with Hunt on board, he didn't want to take any unnecessary chances. He didn't mention it to Hotchner; he didn't want to worry him.

He wiped the sweat off his face with a cloth he was holding, and reached into the engine bay to check the mounts.

Yes. One of them needed tightening. He reached for a spanner, and quickly tightened the nut and bolt. He gave the engine a shake, and there was no movement. Good. Another glass of lemonade and ten minutes in the sun.

He turned around and was looking at a gun pointing in his face.

The last thing his mind registered was the movement of a finger on the trigger. Brains and skull fragments sprayed across the engine bay and the rest on Watson's body crumpled to the deck. The killer took Watson's gun and dragged the bleeding corpse up the steps into the galley. A bag of heavy rocks was tied to his feet, and the killer dragged him outside and tipped him over the edge into the sea. He threw a bucket of water over the deck to wash away most of the blood, (He didn't want it to be seen, at least, not right away,) and settled himself down in the galley with a drink.

Oh man it was hot today!

-0-0-0-

Hotch stopped the van as close as he could get to the boat. He saw that Hunt's tiny craft had been tied alongside Brian's. That was good. He'd get the CSU to check it over. There could be evidence of more of this evil man's killings. Hotch was pretty sure there were far more than they had found. Serial killers rarely went from nothing to the unbridled savagery he had seen so far. He turned in his seat.

"Ok, we are here. I am coming round now to unlock the doors." Hotch jumped from the van and walked around the back, checking all around for anywhere that snipers could be lying in wait. Swinging his side arm to cover the area, he unlocked the door. His agents were waiting, having unclipped the chain from the under seat restraint, they were standing behind him, guns ready.

"Right," Hotch said. "Get out."

Hunt stepped down off the van tail, and stood almost nose to nose with Hotch. Hotch didn't flinch, his dark eyes burning, he pressed the gun into Hunt's midsection.

"Jack, isn't it?" Hunt said, smiling at him. Hotch said nothing, and their eyes locked.

"Move!" Dave said, grabbing Hunt by the elbow, he pushed him towards the boat.

"Where's Detective Watson?" Reid said, frowning behind his sunglasses.

"He's probably had enough sun." Dave said.

Hotch stepped down onto the deck and reached up to steady Hunt. Reid and Rossi followed, guns still ready in case he tried anything.

When the four of them were on deck, Hotch said, "If you would take Hunt down, I'll get Watson to start her up. The sooner we're out of here, the happier I will be."

Aaron went to the door leading down into the galley while the others pushed Hunt towards the door leading down to the cell.

It was dark in the galley; Hotch wondered why Brian had closed the shutters. He went half way down the steps, and that was when he saw the blood.

Not spots of blood; huge strings of thick dark blood.

_Oh my god, what's happened here?_

"Brian?" Hotch called into the darkness. He took a couple of steps into the room. That was when he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel on the back of his neck.

"Drop the weapon, and hands behind tour head,"

Aaron put his arms out and dropped the gun to the deck. He raised them up and clasped his hands behind his neck.

"Now walk in front of me back up the steps."

The boat rocked as someone came on board. "Where is Detective Watson?" Aaron asked, voice steady.

As an answer, the killer turned his gun around and hit Aaron on the side of his head. He fell sideways from the steps and lay stunned on the deck.

"Get up. And don't speak unless you are asked a question. Now let's try that again. Get up the steps."

Aaron climbed unsteadily to his feet, and began the ascent out of the darkness. He could feel blood on his face, and his ear hurt. He thought the top of his ear was split. Once he slipped, and fell on his face against the steps. The gun pressed harder into his neck by way of a reminder. He got onto his knees and struggled to his feet. It was difficult to balance with his hands behind his head. When he stepped out into the sunshine, he saw two men on the deck. One looked Aryan, European. The other of Spanish descent. The three closed in on Hotch.

"Where id Hunt?"

"I don't know. He's…." He stopped speaking as the Aryan's shotgun was pressed under his chin.

"Do we want this one?" he asked.

"Cool it, Bjorn. We might get something for him. He's in good condition. We don't want to attract attention either. If we need to get rid of anyone, we can do it out at sea." He tilted his head towards the other door. "Hunt is down there, being put in the cell. When the other two come up, they probably won't be armed. Rossendo, wait by the door for them."

The Spaniard went and stood where he was told, the guy behind Aaron carried on issuing orders. "Bjorn, get this crate started. I want to get out of here."

The Aryan looked again at Hotch, then gave his shotgun to the boss, and went through the galley door, down into the engine room. A moment later, the engines started, and the craft moved off the landing stage.

Aaron was watching the other door. He heard Dave and Spencer talking as they approached the door.

When he thought they were close to coming through, Aaron shouted, "GUN!" and threw himself to the deck. There was a volley of gun fire and a scream. He went to get up onto his hands and knees, when he felt a bullet in his back. As he collapsed back down, he heard a cry and the sound of something or someone falling, and at the very edge of his vision, he watched a pool of blood spreading across the deck.

A wave of dizziness flooded over him and everything faded into blackness as he fainted with shock.


	3. At Sea

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 3  
At Sea

_**"We must free ourselves of the hope that the sea will ever rest. We must learn to sail in high winds." - Aristotle Onassis **_

"Something's wrong." Dave said quietly to Reid as they closed the door to the cell. The time lock clicked into place. "The engine should be going by now."

"Did you feel that?" Reid asked as they walked towards the steps.

"We've got visitors. Don't put your gun away."

The two men held their stance as they took the steps, chatting loudly as the approached the door. Reid put out his hand and slowly pushed the door. That was when they heard Hotch shout 'Gun'.

Rossi kept low and rushed the door, rolling onto his back. Reid followed, crouching low. Facing backwards, He threw himself to the floor as Rossendo fired his gun, Rossi fired over Reid's head. A bullet hit the Spaniard in the right shoulder, and he spun, returning fire as he went. Dave went to fire again, one of Rossendo's bullets caught his hand and he dropped his weapon. With Dave out of the picture, he turned his gun to Reid. For a moment, the universe froze. Then he pulled the trigger. Dave saw Reid was about to take a bullet. He had fired his gun, but the Spaniard was moving too quickly. Clutching his injured hand to his chest, he pushed between Reid and the Spaniard and took the bullet in his lower chest. He collapsed in front of Reid who raised his weapon to fire again.

"I think you can stop right there, or this one dies!"

Reid turned slowly towards the voice. A man was standing over Hotchner's unmoving body with a shotgun against their boss's neck.

"Gun on the deck or I kill him now."

Reid bent down and placed his gun on the boards.

"Now his." indicating Dave.

Reid crawled to Dave and took his gun, and slid it across the deck towards his own. Dave was bleeding fast, a pool of dark red spreading from beneath him, running along the grooves in the boards in tiny parallel rivulets, the puddle getting wider.

"David. You shouldn't have done that!" Reid said, with tears in his eyes.

"He was going to kill you…." Dave whispered. "Help Aaron….."

Before he could move, Rossendo grabbed Reid by the collar and pulled him up. "That Bastard shot me. Now I kill him."

"No you won't. You're so bloody trigger happy." the boss shouted at him. "Just get that one over to the side and tie him to the rail. And this one. The kid is going to open the cell for us so we can release Hunt. Then we can put these three in for safe keeping."

Rossendo dragged Dave over to the side. He groaned as his hands were tied to the rail with thick cable ties. He was lying with his head under the rail, and both hands tied above him. Aaron was still unconscious as he too was dragged and tied next to him. The boss pulled Reid to him, and turned him around to face away. Reid was watching what Rossendo was doing. Bjorn came up on deck.

"I heard gunfire. What happened?"

"Oh hi! Good to see you at last, now it's all over!" The boss scowled sarcastically. "You are such a damned coward. Why the hell I let them talk me into bringing you, I'll never know."

"It's because my father runs this operation, that's why, you sycophantic jerk!" Bjorn snapped back. He went over to Rossendo who was just finishing immobilising Hotch.

"You ok mate?"

"I took one to the shoulder, but it's a clean through. I'll be ok."

"I'll take a look at it later." Bjorn said. "What about these two?"

"Don't know if they'll make it. Now the kid's going to let Hunt out."

"Shame we can't just leave him." Bjorn said. "It's his stupidity that got us into this in the first place."

"Who has the key?" The boss asked Reid, pressing the gun into the side of his head.

"I can't open the cell." Reid said. "It has a time lock set for three days. It can only be over-ridden by Watson, who you have killed, I think, or the police chief at Miami. It's a security measure."

The boss swung Reid round to face him again, and pulled him over to where Dave and Aaron were lying. He held the gun to Dave's fore head.

"Open it or these brains will be fish food."

Dave closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. Reid looked away from him.

"It's the truth. I cannot open it."

"Watch the kid." he said, passing the shotgun back to Bjorn. He picked up the two guns that belonged to Reid and Rossi, and took them down to the cell. There were several gunshots, as the boss tried to release the lock. When he came back on deck he shouted at Bjorn.

"Radio Timpson, tell him we're at the rendezvous," he yelled angrily. Everything was going wrong. "And tell him we need cutting tools to get Hunt out.…….NOW damnit!"

Bjorn scuttled down to the galley where the radio was, and made the call.

Reid was sitting with Dave and Aaron, and Rossendo was tying him to the rail next to them. Reid didn't fight it. At least now he could take a look at his two colleagues.

Dave was next to him. The rail was too high, and his head and shoulders were off the deck, his head tipped back. His hand looked badly damaged, and Reid suspected that several fingers were broken. The bullet had gone through his palm, and the bones there would be shattered. The real damage though was to his lower chest - the bullet he took for him. Reid felt a twisting feeling in his guts as he saw the exit wound on his back. Dave was breathing fairly well, although his breaths were erratic. The blood from the wound was smeared across the deck. Reid wanted to offer some comfort, but both hands were restrained.

"Dave, can you hear me?" Reid asked. Dave opened his eyes a little and turned to face him. He nodded his head. Reid noticed that the muscles in his arms were twitching with the strain of trying to keep his weight off his body. The strain was showing on his face. He had tears in his eyes from the effort and the pain.

"Dave, can you see Aaron?" Reid said. Dave turned towards his friend, and watched him. Then he turned back to Reid. He shook his head.

"Beaten unconscious." Dave said hoarsely. "Not moving."

"Oh god, I need to help you. I have to get them to release me." Reid said. He strained against the ties holding him. There was no way he could break them. He noticed that both Dave and Hotch had blood running down their arms where the plastic had cut their skin.

"They won't….let you go." Dave said, gradually, his breathing was becoming shallower. "We are not….important……" He stopped speaking as the effort grew too much, and he concentrated on staying conscious. He felt a movement beside him. Hotch groaned as he began to waken.

"I have to try. The worst they can do is kill me, and they will probably do that anyway."

Their three captors were sitting up on the roof of the galley, drinking and chatting. Bjorn was bandaging Rossendo's shoulder. Reid called out to them.

"Please, I need to help my friends!" he said. "Will you let me help them?"

"Go and sort the kid out." the boss said to Bjorn, who was sitting back sipping lemonade. Sighing, the big blond man jumped down onto the lower deck and strode over to Reid.

He stooped down nose to nose with Reid and said, "None of you three is important to us. We have nothing to lose by killing you. So shut the hell up!" His voice got louder with each word, an attempt at intimidation. Reid looked straight back at him, refusing to be cowed at his threat. As Reid's eyes locked with Bjorn's, the man spat in Reid's face. Reid didn't flinch.

"I need to check on my friends." he said. "Will you please untie me so that I can?"

Bjorn grinned, and then started to laugh. "I need to check on my friends." he mimicked. "What do you think this is? The Salvation Army?"

He stood and kicked Reid in the side. His body swung on the rail, as he tried to turn away. The kick came again, hard in the ribs.

"You are not here……" he said, kicking again, "To tell us……." a kick this time in the side of his head. "What to do!"

Reid was now lying with his hands stretched above him. Already his cheek showed a dark imprint where Bjorn's foot had impacted with his face. He moaned and twisted away from him, as Bjorn bent and grabbed Reid's hair, pulling him back to face him.

"Leave him alone." Dave said weakly. "Don't touch him."

Bjorn ignored him. His concentration was on Reid. "Have you got the message, freak?"

Spencer's head was spinning, and he thought he might throw up. He struggled to open his eyes and look at his tormentor, but when he did, his eyes rolled and he closed them again. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't get his brain to work out what he had to say.

"I said," shouted Bjorn, "Have you got the message?"

Reid nodded his head, still being held by the hair. Bjorn raised his fist and brought it down between Reid's eyes, and let go. His head rocked back, and blood began to pour out of his nose. He coughed and choked as he didn't have the strength to lift his head. Bjorn stood and watched as Reid choked and started to gasp, his lips were turning blue. Blood spayed from his mouth as he tried to clear his throat

"For god's sake, help him!" Dave said. "Please! He's going to choke. Just lift his head! Please!"

Bjorn looked at Dave and shook his head sadly.

"Haven't you learned from what just happened?" He stepped away from the struggling Reid and stood between Dave's legs, and kicked as hard as he could. Dave gasped with shock, unbelievable burning pain flooding his body. His eyes rolled in their sockets, and he passed out. Bjorn turned his back on the three helpless men and pulled himself back onto the high deck. "I don't think they'll be saying much more now!" he grinned, and picked up his drink and tilted his head up towards the sun.


	4. Leaders

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 4  
Leaders

"_**The challenge of leadership is to be strong, but not rude; be kind, but not weak; be bold, but not bully; be thoughtful, but not lazy; be humble, but not timid; be proud, but not arrogant; have humour, but without folly." - Jim Rohn **_

Aaron felt the unbelievable pain in his arm and as he started to waken, his first thought was to relieve the agony. He twisted his position, but that only made it worse. He let out a pain filled cry, as the gun shot wound just beneath his left shoulder pulled, and sent sparks of agony along his arm and down to his heart. His chest muscles tightened and for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack. He breathed shallowly and quickly, he wanted to remain awake and check on his team members.

He had allowed Dave to volunteer, and he had hand picked Spencer. It was the team he wanted, and now he had led them into danger.

His priority was to get them back alive, even if it cost him his own life.

Very slowly, he took his weight on his hands, and opened his eyes.

It was cooler now the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, but his clothes were damp against his skin, and his hair was stuck to his forehead. He thought it was blood in his hair though, and as he got used to coping with his bullet wound, his head and ear started to throb. He carefully looked around to see where his captors were, and he saw that they weren't looking at him; they were drinking and laughing on the upper deck. He remembered that he had seen a blood pool growing on the deck as he faded into unconsciousness, and the group on the deck all seemed fine.

So the blood belonged to one of his men. Feeling sick and afraid of what he might see, he turned his head to the side to search for Dave and Spencer.

Dave was next to him, in much the same position as he was. But there was a lot more blood. His was the blood he had seen. Dave wasn't moving and he had a gun shot wound just under his ribs. Aaron guessed that there was an exit wound because most of the blood was beneath him. Then Aaron saw that there was also blood on his clothes around his groin.

_Oh Dave...I am so sorry I lead you into this. Please be alive...I couldn't take it if I lost you, my friend..._

Aaron couldn't even imagine the suffering that he had been through. He thought he was going to be sick thinking of it.

"Dave!" he whispered. "Dave, please, wake up!"

His friend remained inert. Aaron lifted his head to see Spencer, the man he had chosen to lead into this horror.

Spencer wasn't moving either. His mouth was open, and blood was dried onto his face; dark stains on blue white skin. His eyes were open but only showing white. The soft hazel iris's not visible.

"Oh god! Spencer!" Aaron shouted in a blind panic. "Spencer! Please!" He pulled and struggled against the plastic strips holding him, oblivious to the blood running down his arms.

Someone shouted at him from the upper deck. "Hey you down there! Shut it!"

Aaron looked towards the men. The boss was standing looking down at him.

"I think Reid is dead! What have you done to him? I need to get to him. I am the team leader. He is my responsibility." he said. "You are a team leader. You understand!"

The boss thought for a moment, and then jumped down onto the lower deck. Without speaking, he took a knife from his belt and walked towards Aaron. Aaron closed his eyes, unsure what the man intended to do. Suddenly, his hands were released, and he fell back onto the deck.

Without looking at the man, he quickly got onto his hands and knees, ignoring the pain and gathering numbness in his upper body. He crawled around to kneel between his two colleagues. Dave was breathing; Spencer was not.

"Cut him down," Aaron begged, holding Spencer up in his arms. "Please, give him a chance." Aaron glanced up at the man, who had Aaron's own gun trained on him. He knew that this man was ruthless. The appeal to his leadership was probably the only thing that would have made him do this. He stepped forward and cut through the bonds holding Reid, and his body dropped into Aaron's arms.

Aaron didn't have the strength to take his weight, and together the two men fell down onto the deck. Aaron embraced the unmoving body, and gently laid him down on the deck. He pushed his fingers into Reid's mouth, and pulled away the clotting blood and fluids that had collected. Resting Reid's head facing to the side, he knelt astride him, and pulled apart his shirt. He pressed down on his chest the best he could, ignoring the shooting pains in his chest, all the time begging Reid to breathe. Blood from Aaron's wrists ran between his fingers and pooled on Spencer's skin.

_Come on, Spencer. Don't let me be too late!_

"Enough now. He's dead."

Aaron didn't look up, but he continued fighting to get the man lying beneath him to breathe. He felt the shotgun on the back of his head, but still he didn't stop.If Reid died, he really didn't care if this man blew his head off. Suddenly, Reid coughed. Aaron quickly got off him and knelt beside him. He sat him up, and leaned him over his arm, and banged him on the back. Reid drew in a rough breath, and coughed again. His eyes watered, and he threw up blood and acids onto the deck. Aaron hugged him to his chest and Reid clung to him. He waited until his breathing was smooth and even, and he laid him down on his side, and turned his attention to Dave.

"That's it. Leave the other one alone."

"Please," Aaron said, "Let me help him too."

"No. He's too badly damaged. We won't want him."

Aaron became aware of a new sound – another boat engine, getting closer.

"Get yourself and the kid onto your feet." the boss said. The other two men came down and stood with him.

Hotch took a step towards Dave. He heard the click of the shotgun being primed, and he turned to see the man pressing the gun onto Reid's head.

"Get him onto his feet now!"

Aaron lifted Reid up, holding him around the waist. "Try and stand, Spencer." Aaron said. Spencer looked at him with confused puzzled eyes. "It's ok, Spencer. Stand here and hang on to the railings." He put the younger man's hands onto the rail, and turned to his captor. "I need to help David. He is a close friend, and I must make sure he is ok."

"Get back and stand there." Aaron was told, but Aaron couldn't leave Dave like that. He took a step, and the Boss swung the shotgun, and hit Aaron hard. Aaron doubled up, and groaned. He fell to his knees, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"Get up, if you want to live!" shouted the man who had hit him. Aaron put one hand on the floor in front of him. He was trying to catch his breath.

"I can't." he said. "Please, give me a moment.

"You get up now, or you stay here."

"Please," Reid shouted, "Please don't hurt him!"

Again, Aaron tried to get up, but he was partially winded, and couldn't straighten up. The man brought the end of the shotgun down on the back of his head, and Aaron went down.

"No!" Reid cried, taking a step towards Aaron. The shotgun rose level with his face.

"Don't you move."

Reid stood shaking, hanging onto the railing. He looked into his eyes.

"Please, leave him alone." he said quietly. He closed his eyes. "Please..."

There was a slight bump as a larger craft drew up along side. Two men jumped down onto the deck of the police boat.

"Where's Hunt?"

Bjorn said. "This way, I'll show you."

The two newcomers, carrying cutting torches, followed Bjorn down to the cell. After a minute, Reid heard the torches light up. He knew it wouldn't be long now until Hunt was free. He looked down at Aaron, and at Dave. Both were still, making no signs of waking up. He felt a hand grip his arm.

"You are coming with us, kid. We have a use for you."

"But what about..."

"They are nothing to you now. They will be dead very soon now. You however, are too fresh to die." Reid was pulled under the rail, and told to climb the ladder onto the other boat. Reid tried to turn.

"Please, let me stay with my friends!" he said, "What do you want me for? Don't kill them. Why do you have to kill them?"

"Just shut the hell up, and get up there!" He prodded Spencer in the back to remind him that he could be killed too if necessary. Reid slowly climbed the ladder, desperately trying to think of an option. His face was hurting, and he wasn't thinking properly. When he reached the top of the ladder, a hand on his back pushed him onto the deck of the larger boat. He quickly turned around to see what was happening below him.

Aaron was lying prone, one arm above his head, the other stretched out to the side. His head was to one side, and Reid could see the dry blood over his ear. There was a gash on the back of his head now that was bleeding onto the deck. There was a hole in his back where he had been shot before.

_Please, Hotch, wake up. Please, don't let them just shoot you like that!_

Dave too hadn't moved. The bloody puddle behind him had stopped growing now, but the blood on his groin was still bright as fresh blood seeped through his clothes. His face, tilted back towards the sea, was pale, and his eyes closed. Reid wanted to beg to be allowed to go and join them, but he knew what the answer would be. He thought of jumping off the boat, but looking around, by the time he had run to the opposite side of the boat to jump, they would have shot him down. He turned instead to Dave and Aaron, and by sheer will power tried to wake them.

Hunt emerged through the door that led to the cell. Reid saw a smile on his face. The sight of the monster being free sickened Reid, especially as two good men had been brought down to free him. Tears sprang to Reid's eyes when he thought about the hopelessness of his situation. Hunt and the two men carrying the cutting torches climbed the ladder onto the deck.

"Aren't you going to lock this one up?" one of them asked.

"I thought we could let him watch." the Boss said "Keep him still while we back of a few hundred yards."

The larger vessel began to move away, and it was then that Reid noticed smoke coming from the galley.

"Hotch! Wake up!" he screamed across the widening stretch of sea. "Wake up! In the name of god, wake up!"

The boat moved further away, until Aaron's unconscious body could hardly be seen through the smoke. Reid clung to the hand rail and screamed across the water, his eyes streaming with tears. He watched as the boat listed to the side, and sunk lower and lower into the water. Suddenly, the night air was lit up by an explosion, and the little craft blew up into thousands of pieces. When the smoke and debris cleared, nothing could be seen of the boat.

Reid covered his eyes in horror. Hotch and Rossi were on the boat. He couldn't believe what he had seen.

"My god!" he said softly. "You killed them. You just killed them!" He swayed in shock as he clung onto the rail, not wanting to believe what he had just seen. He could smell the smoke, and the brightness of the explosion was etched on his mind.

Hotch and Rossi were dead. He had just watched as they were blown out of the water.

He pressed his hands to his face and fell to his knees and cried.


	5. Survival

**A/N Please excuse this chapter being late. First my computer died, then I was taken ill, and I have been in hospital for two days. But I****'****m up and running now, unlike my laptop, which is itself going into laptop hospital in Wednesday. So it****'****s desk top now, and I don****'****t like it as much. But my friends, I****'****ll do my best. Oh yes, Tellygirl, I took your idea regarding the explosion and Aaron****'****s clothes under advisement, and decided that the resulting imagery I would (selfishly) never share - sorry Chick!!So****………**

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 5  
Survival

"_**Fear - Until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore, you will not know the terror of being forever lost at sea." - Larry Kersten **_

Aaron could hear a long way off someone calling him, telling him to wake up.

Why?

Suddenly the ground he was lying on moved. He turned painfully onto his back, but the movement made his eyes hurt, and he could not open them to make sense of his surroundings. His head hurt, and he remembered being hit. He tried to think - he could remember being on a boat - was he still on the boat? Yes; the deck was tilting, he wondered if the boat was sinking. His head was hurting. It was difficult to think past the pain.

Then he smelled the smoke - thick acrid poisonous smoke. He had smelled that smell before - it was burning upholstery. He had to move.

The boat tilted at a steep angle, and he tried to grip the deck, but he couldn't hold on any longer. His body rolled downwards. He forced his eyes open, and realised he was about to fall from the deck into the water. As his body slid helplessly towards the sea, he caught hold of part of the rail structure. He felt a painful wrench in his injured shoulder as sinews and muscles tore and ripped, and the pain that shot through him caused a yelp of agony. He swung his other good arm up, and hung there for a moment trying to remember…..

Dave!

They had bound Dave to the railing. He looked along the side of the boat, and Dave was still there, not reacting to what was happening. Aaron said a little prayer, and reached down to his ankle holster.

The gun was still there. A sigh of relief, and he pulled himself hand over hand to Dave. Dave's feet were in the water now; the boat would go down any second. He wedged his leg against the railing, and quickly, he wrapped his left arm around Dave's waist, and with the other hand he held the end of the barrel against the plastic restraints that were cutting deeply into Dave's wrists.

"Dave, I've got you. Don't struggle."

He turned his face away and leaned his body across Dave. He was a crack shot, but these were not normal circumstances. He fired the gun and Dave suddenly became heavy in his arm. He quickly put his other arm around him, clasping his fingers together at the front of Dave's chest. He moved his foot away from the railing, and together they slipped over the edge of the boat into the sea.

The shock of the freezing water disoriented Aaron and for a moment, He didn't know which way was up. Clutching Dave to himself, he kicked with his legs hoping he was going in the right direction.

That was when the boat blew up. The resulting wave pushed Aaron further under, and as the boat slipped beneath the surface, the undercurrent dragged the two men down with it.

Aaron's instinct was to let Dave go, and swim to the surface, but he held tighter. He wanted to breathe in the sea water; his lunges were saying, 'breathe….breathe!' but he screwed his eyes tight and held on and kicked his legs against the sucking undercurrent. He was on the verge of panic, the agony of his lungs overwhelming all other pain……

_Either we both live, or we both die. I will not consider any other options……Nothing else will do…._

Suddenly Aaron broke the surface and his screaming lungs sucked in air. He floated for a moment to get his breath back, carefully holding Dave's face out of the water. He thought he was crying with shock, but he wasn't sure. A steel band around his chest squeezed his lungs, and he took little rapid breaths, aware that he could hyperventilate and faint, he tried to relax and breathe normally. He was freezing cold and his clothes were dragging him down. Dave wasn't breathing, and was turning blue. Aaron knew that he had to find somewhere to try to revive his friend, or it would be too late, and he would die there in his arms - an option Aaron was not prepared to contemplate.

"Dave," he said, "I am going to get you through this. I don't know if you can hear me, but don't you dare die! Just hang on and somehow, I will get you breathing again!"

Aaron was breathing hard and heavily. He wondered how he was going to make it, even if he had been alone, there was no way he would be able to reach dry land. He was probably five miles from the shore, and even in the best of conditions, he doubted that he could swim that far.

He tightened his grip around Dave, and swam on his back to ensure that Dave's face stayed out of the water. He looked around for something to cling onto - a piece of the boat, or even a life jacket. But there was nothing. Aaron's chest was hurting, and his injured shoulder was weakening his arm. He suddenly knew he was going to vomit, he has taken in a lot of the salt water, and before he could think about it, he was violently sick into the sea.

He was gasping for breath, and trying to tread water, and he was sick again, still determined that Dave should survive this. He coughed and gagged and spat as a wave covered him and his mouth filled with foul water again.

Dave felt warm against him, and it was that which gave Aaron a renewed fortitude to survive. It was dark now, and Aaron scoured the horizon for anything that could offer safety.

He was so cold he couldn't shiver. He knew he was hypothermic, and he was minutes from death……..

There was one boat. He could see a light hanging on one of the masts. Aaron recognised it. It was where the UnSubs were…….and possibly Spencer.

With his stronger arm gripped around Dave, and balancing with the other, he kicked in the water to what he dearly wanted, but dare not hope, would be a measure of safety.

-0-0-0-

Reid flinched when the little boat blew up, the heat reddening his face. But his view of his friends on the boat had long been blocked out by the thick smoke. He couldn't see them, and now all there was left was a few burning traces of debris, and a whirl of water where the little craft, with his two closest friends, had been. He stood and stared, open mouthed.

"My god!" he said softly. "You killed them. You just killed them!" He fell to his knees with his hands over his eyes, and cried helplessly.

"I can't believe it." he cried through his tears. "Oh god, I can't believe it." His grief filled sobs angered the three men.

Hands roughly pulled him to his feet.

"Go and lock him in the spare room." the boss said.

Rossendo looked to him with a frown. "But, Doyle, you said….."

"And now I'm saying this. You will share with Bjorn, or you will sleep on deck." he said. "Your choice. Of course," he added, fingering Hotch's gun. "There is a third option."

Rossendo angrily dragged Spencer to a door, and kicked it open. Spencer turned to look out to where the boat had been.

_Please, if you are alive, let me see you…._

But he didn't hold out any hope. He had seen the boat blow up - no one could survive that.

He saw soft waves where the light on the mast picked out the peaks.

_Aaron….Dave….I am so sorry….._

Rossendo was livid. This was his room, and it was being given to this creepy faggot. He pushed Spencer through the door, and he fell forwards on his face.

"Do you know why he didn't kill you, creep."

Spencer looked up at the Spaniard. "No." he said softly.

"Young white flesh. He can get money for you."

A look of horror passed across Reid's face. He realised then that death wasn't what they had in mind for him, but something far worse. He had to get off the boat; even to drown in the waves would be better.

His thoughts got no further. "But just because you are clean white meat I don't see why I should give up my room to you!"

And he kicked Reid in the ribs. With a soft cry, Reid twisted forwards to protect himself.

"I won't touch your face." he said, kicking again. "But if you tell him what I have done, the next time, I'll spare nothing! Filth!"

He kicked him in the back and ribs, and Reid struggled to keep his body curled up, struggling to escape, and still protect himself. But gradually he weakened. He felt something give when Rossendo's boot kicked under his knee cap, and it made a horrible squelch sound. Reid moaned, and clutched at his leg. He tried to roll out of the way but with the final kick to the groin, Reid fainted and all resistance was finished. Rossendo dragged him over to a mattress by his hair, and pulled him onto it. He turned Reid towards the wall, and put a cover over him. To anyone glancing in, he would appear to be sleeping.

"Pleasant dreams, Fag." and Rossendo left the room and locked the door behind him.

He took the steps up to the top deck where Doyle and Bjorn were opening a crate of beer.

"Just tonight we will stay here and have a drink to celebrate." Doyle said. "Just one. Then we move out of here. We have an extra stop now we have pretty boy to deliver." he took a swig of beer. "Bjorn, I want you to call Trader after we have finished here, and let him know we have something for him. He's meeting with some influential Arabs tomorrow. He might be glad of the white meat for the discussion."

With a satisfied sigh, he finished the bottle and tossed it into the sea.


	6. The Pain of Loosing

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 6  
The Pain of Loosing

'_**In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.' - Robert Ingersol**_

Aaron could no longer see where he was going. The salt water in his eyes, the cold, exhaustion and pain were weakening him and every ounce of energy was going to keeping Dave out of the water and swimming to the relative safety of the boat that he had seen. He had no idea how long he had been in the water, but it was still dark and he thought maybe an hour, but he couldn't really tell. The arm around Dave felt frozen into place. As he swam, he tried to flex his fingers, but they were stiff with cold and wouldn't move.

He stopped swimming for a moment and forced his eyes open. It took a moment for him to be able to focus, but all around was blackness, and he couldn't see the boat. It had gone, and he was alone in the sea, his hope had disappeared. He knew he was crying, although he couldn't feel the tears, but despair overwhelmed him, and he pulled Dave as close as he could. He took a ragged breath and looked again, and realised that he had swum past then boat, and it was a few hundred yards behind him. He almost cried out with relief, and with a renewed strength built on a fragile hope, he kicked feebly towards the boat.

There was a rope hanging over the side attached to a small lift boat lashed to the side. He reached out for the rope, and as it touched his cold white hand, he thought it was the most beautiful feeling he had ever had.

_Dave, I think we might make it. Hold on now, almost there……_

He wanted to encourage his friend, but his whole body was so without feeling, and he had forgotten how to speak. So he pressed his face into Dave's wet cold hair in the hope that he would feel reassured.

He clutched at the rope with his weak left hand and continued to cling onto Dave with the other, and wondered how he would get Dave onto the boat. The only way he could see, was to make a loop and tie it around Dave's chest, and climb up himself, pulling Dave up after.

He wrapped the rope around Dave's chest, and struggled to tie a strong knot one handed with frozen fingers. Once, Dave slipped from his grasp, and sank beneath the water, but Aaron managed to catch hold of his clothing before he was out of reach. It made him almost sick, the thought of losing him now, so close to safety.

It took a long time to tie the knot to his satisfaction. He thought maybe another half an hour. He didn't know how his body was surviving, but he still had to get them both out of the water and into the life boat. Tentatively, he released Dave, ready to pull him back if he slipped away again. The knot held, and Aaron just hoped it would stay holding while he climbed the rope.

He wrapped his arms around the rope while he thought how he was going to do this. The side of the life boat was about six feet out of the sea, not far, but to Aaron, it was an unattainable goal. He had no idea how he was going to do it.

He blew onto his fingers, rubbed his hands together trying to restore life to them. Suddenly, as blood flowed thinly through the veins sunken deep into his flesh, the pain was indescribable. He wanted to scream, and he threw his head back and bit down on his lip. He felt the trickle of blood run down his chin, but he didn't feel his teeth bite.

Quickly, his hands heavy and throbbing, he pulled himself to the rope. He touched Dave's skin, and told him he wouldn't leave him, and then started the climb. The rope pulled through his hands at first because he couldn't tell how tightly he was holding it, and he knew without feeling it, that he had rope burns, bad, he thought. But slowly, with his legs wrapped around the rope, he was almost there.

He realised he could not afford to make a sound, or let the life boat rock against the launch. He could not afford to be discovered in this condition. So he carefully reached out and grabbed the side of the boat. And let go of the rope.

For a second or two he hung there, catching his breath, starting to shiver, so much that his body was shaking the boat. Through sheer concentration and will power, he swung his leg up onto the gunwale, and tipped into the boat.

He fell down into the bottom of the boat, into about three inches of water. But this water was warm, and it hurt his freezing body. His head cracked against a cross member, and although he didn't realise it at the time, it was bleeding hard again. He wanted to lie there and not move. He wanted to never move again, even to die there. His mind was telling him to rest, and live.

But his heart was telling him to pull Dave onto the boat. Then, and only then, could he rest. He held onto the side of the little boat, and pulled himself up to the edge. He wasn't standing. He didn't know if he would ever stand again, but he was leaning on the inside of the boat. He saw the rope just adjacent to the stern, and he dragged himself towards it.

_Dave, I am coming. Please don't die now…._

The fact that Dave could have died any time in the last two hours, and he wouldn't even have known, Aaron couldn't even consider. He took the rope in bleeding painful hands, and dragged at it. At first, while Dave was still in the water, the rope pulled up fairly easily. When his body left the water, it became so hard, that Aaron was crying with the effort.

_Just this, then I can rest…..nearly there….just this, just get Dave to safety…..then I rest….I can rest……..get you to safety, Dave, dear friend, then we can both rest……_

With tears streaming down his face, blood soaking into the back of his wet clothes and staining the rope as he pulled it in, Dave was close enough for him to hold onto him. Aaron clutched at his jacket, and fell back, dragging Dave into the boat on top of him. Aaron was sure that he cried out as the two men fell into the boat. As Aaron hit the bottom of the boat again, his body cried 'enough!' and he passed out.

-0-0-0-

Bjorn had drunk rather more than just one beer, and went out like a light when he fell into the bunk.

"Drunken sot!" Rossendo muttered, pulling him back off the bed and rolling him onto the mattress. "Why should you have the bed."

He threw a blanket over Bjorn, and got into the bed. Although the days were sweltering, the nights were cool, and he reached out and took the cover that he had put on his 'friend' and covered himself with that one as well. "Who gives a toss if you die of hypothermia? I sure don't."

He lay on his back for a while staring at the ceiling, thinking of the white boy in the next room. He would get away with beating him. That could have happened when he was with the Feds. But what he really wanted to do, he wouldn't get away with. And much as he wanted to stick him, it wasn't going to be good enough to get a bullet between the eyes for. Not that he was a fag, he told himself. He just wanted to humiliate him. He's done men before, but not out of love or even lust. It was a power game, and here on the boat, the only thing he was more powerful than, was the white boy.

He was jolted out of his reverie by a sound, as if something had hit the side of the boat. He sighed. Doyle was sleeping, and wouldn't have heard. Bjorn was in a drunken stupor. Annoyed with life, and wondering how he had slipped so low in the pecking order, he climbed out of bed and went to the door. He paused before opening the door. He was only wearing his underpants, and he thought it was probably cold out there.

_A bit of the police launch hit the side. That was most likely what it was. Damn it. I'm going back to bed._

He got onto the bunk again, and twisted the blankets around him, and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, the white boy was just waking up.

-0-0-0-

Spencer woke up slowly and painfully. He was lying on his side, and he was aching all over. He remembered the Spaniard kicking him, and he could feel the aftermath of every one of those kicks. He carefully rolled onto his back, and that was when he remembered his knee. Oh god the pain was incredible. He sat up and pushed back the blanket. His right knee was misshapen black and swollen. He thought the knee cap was dislocated. He touched it, and the result was a stab of pain that almost made him scream. He held it back, and wondered how in hell he was going to get out of there if he couldn't walk. He would have to rely on a rescue………..

Dave and Aaron……..

_Oh god! Dave and Aaron!! Oh no!_

Dave and Aaron were dead. He'd seen it. What did it matter, then, what became of him. His life was over now. His Dad had left him, his Mum had in every normal sense of the word also left him. Gideon had run away, and now the two best and closest friends he had ever had had been snatched away from him.

Spencer was weary of forming bonds and friendships. Never again would he allow his heart to give itself away. Because the pain of it being ripped in two was just too much to bear. His eyes were dry as he lay back down on the bed. It was better never to love than to feel this agony of emptiness when the love was gone. There was a hole in his chest where his heart had been torn in two. He had had his heart broken before, but this time, the old scars were open again, and this time, there would be no healing. Soundlessly, tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and ran down the side of his face into his hair, and without a murmur he cried himself into a nightmare of burning and pain and dreadful loss.


	7. Truth or Lies, Dreams or Reality

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 7  
Truth or Lies; Dreams or Reality

"_**Life is never easy for those who dream." - Robert James Wall**_

Flyer looked down at the body lying at his feet, and it felt like someone ran an icy finger down his spine. First a serial killer on the island, now a body in the harbour.

Well, this one wouldn't be ID'ed by dental records, that was for sure. Or any other part of the face for that matter. He stooped down and looked closely at the dead man, presuming it was a man. Reddish grey hair, and that was about all he could tell of his face.

_Poor guy. Well, at least it was quick__…__.._

He pulled neoprene gloves onto his hands, and slipped his fingers into the pocket of the victim's jacket. There was still ID in the pocket, so whoever killed this man wasn't afraid of being caught. So not an Islander then. Flipping open the wallet, he read what he saw out loud to his colleagues.

"Watson, Brian. Miami Dade Police." He glanced up. "Give them a call, Ray, would you?"

Ray was an immigrant to the island, a large gentle man whose dark shirt fitted snugly across his belly. It was early morning, and Flyer saw that already the heat was getting to him, leaving damp patches on his clothes and shiny areas on his face.

"Will do." he said. He thought he'd left this behind in LA. He wiped the sweat off his face with the ever present handkerchief, and went to sit in the shade to make the call.

"Who found him?"

His colleague pointed to a young couple sitting on a wall, the woman holding a child's hand. The little girl was bulky in a life jacket, and was clinging miserably to her mother. Flyer put the wallet in an evidence bag, and, pulling off his gloves, went to talk to them.

"Moses Flyer." he said, holding out his hand to shake. The man put his limp hand in his. He was pale and wide eyed and shocked.

"Martin Freedman." he said. "My wife Natalie, and my daughter Tasha. We were just coming into the landing stage - we are on a three week runabout - and something got caught on the prop." He grimaced as he remembered what had happened. "I jumped in, and this guy was…..was……"

Flyer put his hand on Freedman's shoulder. "It's ok, take your time. Can you tell me, was he next to the wall, or further out?" he asked.

"Further out." Freedman said, "As if he was dropped over the side of a boat. One a little bigger than mine."

"Thank you. We will need to impound your boat for now, but there is a nice hotel in the town which I'm sure you will like. I'll need you to come into the office sometime later today to sign a statement." Flyer ruffled the child's hair, and she looked sullenly up at him. "One of my colleagues will drive you into town and show you where the police office is, and drop you at the hotel."

Before the man could object, Flyer had walked away. He was worried now about the three other men who were transporting Hunt. If someone had killed their colleague, were they in danger too, or was it even too late now? This was all virgin ground for him. He decided to call Miami Dade PD for himself and get some advice.

-0-0-0-

Something woke Aaron. He lay rigid for a moment, listening. What ever it was, it didn't come again. It could have been the cry of a sea bird, or the knocking of the life boat onto the launch. He was on his back in the bottom of the life boat, and the warm water had soaked into his clothes at the back. He was shivering, which he thought was a good thing. Dave was lying across him, facing up. He was cold and still. Aaron held him by the shoulders, and lifted him so that he could wriggle out from under him.

He felt very heavy, and his skin was uncharacteristically pale. The sea had washed most of the blood off his clothes, and the exit wound on his back looked wide open and bloodless. There were some supplies stashed on the boat for emergencies, and on the top was a waterproof tarp. Aaron pulled it over to him, and unfolded it onto the bottom of the boat, effectively leaving the boat dry. He carefully laid Dave onto it.

He undid Dave's clothes and pulled them open, and did the same to his own clothes. Then he lay down on top of him, chest to chest, to share what little warmth he had. Dave was very cold; while in the water, he had not been moving. At least Aaron was generating some warmth. He knew that there was no point in trying to do anything until he was warmer. As he laid there, his arms around him, hugging him close, he felt his faint intermittent heart beat. At this temperature, he wouldn't't be using much oxygen. Most important thing was to keep him warm.

Aaron must have drifted off again, because the next thing he knew, the sun was coming up. He touched Dave's neck and searched for a pulse, but if there was one it was too light to register on Aarons injured fingers. He opened his hands and looked at them. They were starting ho hurt as they warmed up.

He was surprised to see very little skin on the insides of his fingers, and across the middle of his palms on both hands was a deep burn. As yet there wasn't too much pain, so he took the time to check Dave.

A through and through to the lower abdomen, just under his ribs. And a through and through to his right hand. He remembered the blood on Dave's groin. He undid Dave's zip and gently pulled apart the fabric. He winced when he saw the torn and bruised skin.

_Oh god, Dave. How did you survive that without screaming?_

Carefully he rolled Dave onto his side and pulled his shirt out of his trousers. He looked at the exit wound white and grey and bloodless. It was a fearful wound. If he could survive, he would need intensive surgery and aftercare. Aaron just had to keep him alive until then. There were some blankets in a shrink bag with the stores, so Aaron took one, and put it behind Dave's back. He gently lay him down again, and put another blanket over the top of his friend, tucking it around his body, preserving the heat.

Then he sat back ion the tiny boat and pulled off his jacket and shirt, and wrapped a third blanket around his shoulders. He concentrated on flexing and un-flexing his muscles in his arms and legs, and rocked gently in an attempt to keep warm. Now the sun was rising, there should be enough heat to dry them out and warm them. But as he sat there, hiding so close to the men who had tried to kill them, he knew he had no weapons, and no strength. Just their profiler's brains as a defence.

He hoped that it would be enough.

-0-0-0-

Just yards from where Aaron sat shivering, Spencer was asleep in a dream filled with burning and flames and from the flames stared faces of those he had loved and lost and their flesh melted and dripped like plastic and unreal and fake and formed into the faces of the dead he had been unable to save and he pushed them away and as he did so Hotchner reached out and forced his fleshless fingers into his throat and squeezed his wind pipe and blood sprayed out of the wound and he said why did you leave us to die and Rossi laughed and they drifted away into the flames and Hotchner squeezed harder and Spencer woke up……

He lay very still on the sweat soaked sheets trying to catch his breath, not daring to move lest he attract the attention of the spirits of his night mares. Slowly, unsure if he was awake or asleep, without moving the rest of his body, he reached up and felt his neck. There was no torn hole, no bony fingers; he reached out and touched the damp sheet and brought his hand back in front of his face. There was no blood. It had been another dream.

He remembered an explosion. Hotch and Rossi had been on the boat, and there had been an explosion. Had that been a dream? Or had that been reality? Had they died? Had his boss and close friend died? Had the man who he had once hero worshipped, and who he now saw as a friend, a man from whom he had so much to learn, was he dead? Or was that the dream?

With his IQ of 187, and ability to read twenty thousand words in a minute, and twenty seven years of experience, he still couldn't tell dreams from reality.

He sighed. Very carefully, he put his feet on the deck beside his bed. He looked down at his injured knee, and went to touch it. He felt the heat emanating from it, and before he could touch it, the broken tissues screamed at him in anticipation, and he withdrew his hand. Putting all his weight into his good leg, and with the aid of the furniture in the room, he limped in painful hops over to the small port hole.

He tried to make as little sound as possible. He feared the Spaniard. For all the murderous intent of Doyle, and the precocious bravado of Bjorn, it was Rossendo who he feared. He had nothing, and so could lose nothing.

He wiped the condensation off the glass and looked out. The sun was just peeping over the horizon, and the sky was a perfect pale turquoise blue. Some sea birds were flying freely across the waves, ducking down every now and again, and coming up with a fish.

Flying freely……

They didn't live lives in fear of the unknown, trembling with anxiety each time they missed a fish, wondering if they'd inherited a debilitating disease every time they miscalculated, spending nights torn apart by demons in their dreams, feeling regret over what might have been; worrying about what was to be. They flew free and happy.

Not for the first time, he wondered at an evolution that blessed the highest species on the planet with minds filled with fear of 'what-if' and distress of 'why'.

He rested his hands on the ledge and watched the birds, and wished he was one of them.


	8. Water

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 7  
Water

"_**You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind." - Mahatma Gandhi**_

Aaron sat in the bottom of the boat with David for some time, rocking, trying to figure out what he had to do. Sitting here was not an option. Dave needed help, and as the sun warmed the space in the cramped hiding place, and his body slowly warmed up, he realised that he needed help too. His bloody fingers stuck onto the blanket that he was holding around his shoulders, leaving dark marks. He desperately needed water to dilute the salt he had swallowed, and his injured arm had very little feeling in it now. He touched his head with the back of his hand, and felt thickening blood there. He looked down at Dave again. If he didn't get help for him soon, he would die, and Aaron wasn't about to give him over to death that easily.

He pulled his skinned hands off the blanket, and laid it gently across Dave's chest. He felt for a pulse again. And as he did, he felt Dave take a shallow breath.

_You will survive this, that's an order!_

A final touch to his face, and Aaron turned away from him.

He needed to find water; there was none on the boat, and he wanted to find Reid.

Very slowly, he pushed back the cover that was tied down over the life boat. There was no-one about, so he shakily stood up and stepped onto the gunwale that was gently tapping against the side of the boat. His eyes were now level with the deck, and he couldn't see anyone up on deck yet. He thought they were probably sleeping off the night before. Thinking of that, and wondering where Spencer was, sent a chill through him, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. He hadn't realised how weak he was. He would have to be especially vigilant; his mind wasn't working as it should, and he was staring to feel the agonies of his injuries.

With a final glance down at Dave, he clasped the edge of the deck, and pulled himself up. He swung his leg onto the deck and rolled over onto his back. He saw that he had left bloody finger marks where he had held the side of the boat, and he rubbed at the mark with the back of his leg. The mark was still there, but it wasn't noticeable.

Without waiting any longer, he turned onto his hands and knees, and crawled over to a bulkhead, and sat against it, panting and gasping for breath, and trying to keep silent. He had to sit still for a short time, as his head injuries were interfering with his vision, and he was having difficulty seeing straight. Moving his head slowly, he looked around. Water was what he needed and he was feeling the horrible effects of dehydration. He licked his lips with a dry tongue, and focused on a nearby door. He had no idea how this boat was set out, but in his experience, the water would be in the galley. He got on his hands and knees, and crawled the short distance to the door.

The door was closed, but there was a small window at head height. Holding onto the door frame, he pulled himself up and stood with his back to the door, his head next to the window. Slowly, he turned his head and looked in. It was the galley, and Hunt, and the man who had shot him, were preparing food. He tried to ignore the smell of cooking, but his stomach growled, and he thought for a moment that the men couldn't fail to have heard it.

But they made no sign that they had.

And there was no chance of getting water from there now. He looked around for somewhere to hide until they came out. A wide metal staircase a few yards further along looked about right. He pushed himself off the door, and his world suddenly spun out of control. He reached out a hand to steady himself, but he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing any more, and he fell forwards unable to save himself.

He hit the deck without a cry, biting again into his lip. This time he felt it, and tasted the blood that flooded his mouth. He rolled onto his back, and blinked into the blue sky.

He had to hide, and he slowly sat up, and crawled behind the stairway. He crawled to the furthest corner, and sat with his back in the angle. He didn't see the trail of thick blood that he had left on the deck because as soon as he reached the safety of the darkness under the stairs, he fainted through lack of water, overwhelming pain and distress. A trickle of blood slowly ran down the wall from head and shoulder and pooled under him.

-0-0-0-

Reid didn't know how long he had been standing at the port hole watching the birds, but the sun was shining down hotly onto the soft waves, and he guessed it was mid morning. His forehead was resting on the glass, and blood had dripped from his nose onto the ledge. He looked at the red against the yellow white of the faded paint work. He didn't turn around when the door opened.

"Something to eat." said a European accented voice. Bjorn.

"I'm not hungry." Reid said quietly.

"You will be by the end of the day." Bjorn said. "This is all you get. Don't want you getting tubby now!" and he laughed. Reid turned and looked at the tray which he had put on the table. "I'm collecting it in ten minutes. Eat or not. I don't really care." and he left the cabin, locking the door after him.

Reid hobbled to the bed and sat down. He pulled the tray over, and looked at the offering; a slice of toast, and a cup of coffee.

There was no sugar in the coffee, but he drank it all the same, gagging on it at first. It hurt his face to drink, and the coffee tasted of blood. No sugar, but at least it had caffeine. He didn't touch the toast, but laid back on the bunk, and relived the last day.

Could he have saved Hotch and Rossi? There had to be a way, but he couldn't see it. Hotch, Aaron he called him in his thoughts, was very special to him, although he could never voice how he felt. He knew they could never have been lovers, but he did love him more deeply than a friend. Now he was gone, and he could never tell him, the chance would never come now. He blinked away the tears that threatened, and pulled a pillow against his chest and hugged it, as he had done so many times before, but this time he knew this was all it would ever be. And he pressed his face into the stained cotton and cried muffled tears. When Bjorn returned for the tray he again didn't look up, but watched the images that his brain was playing for him unbidden; images of Aaron, his rare and beautiful smile, his even more amazing laugh, and suddenly the last time he had seen him, face down on the burning boat, in a pool of his own blood.

Bile rose into his throat, and he doubled up, and threw up the coffee and stomach acids onto the floor of the cabin.

_Please, I just want to die….I can't live in the same world without him….please, just let me die……_

He wiped his mouth on the edge of the sheet, and cried silent tears of misery.

-0-0-0-

As Bjorn left the cabin where the pretty boy was whinging on the bunk, he started to consider the situation he was in. He was afraid of Hunt. He was reckless and stupid, and liked to push people around. Doyle, for all his outstanding leadership qualities, was besotted by him. Where did that leave him. Yeah, his Dad was high up in the organisation, but he didn't think for a moment that Hunt wouldn't kill him if he felt like it. And that moron Rossendo. What a waste of space.

_Crap! How did I get into this? I never wanted this life! Doing the work of a bloody skivvy! _

Angrily the threw the tray into the sea. He had to start up the engines now, go and meet Timpson, and barter the kid.

_That's why I'm here! 'Cos I'm the only one who can sail this crate!_

That was when he saw the blood. Thick red and clotting, right there on the deck.

"What the hell….?" He bent down and touched it. He didn't want to raise the alarm if it was nothing. He was hated enough as it was. He rubbed the slippery globule between his fingers. Definitely blood; drawing a trail towards the stairway to the top deck.

"Hey! Doyle! Hunt! There's something here you need to see!" he shouted.

Doyle was annoyed at having his breakfast interrupted, but Bjorn sounded insistent. He got up and beckoned to Hunt.

"Come on. Let's see what he's found." He put down his cutlery with more force than was necessary, his mouth a thin annoyed line.

Hunt followed Doyle out of the Master's Cabin, and went round the side. Bjorn was standing by the stairs, looking into the dark corner under the steps. He pointed to the blood, and then tilted his head towards the darkness.

"Look who I've found!"

"It's that damned Fed." Hunt said. "Just let me get him!"

Doyle and Bjorn stood back as Hunt took hold of Aaron's ankles. He yanked him out of the corner, his head cracking on the floor as he fell away from the wall. Hunt pulled him out into the light. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"I'm gonna kill this sonofabitch. He was the one who was going to get me put away!"

"Well, you did kill a shed load of women!" Doyle said, a grin on his face.

Hunt laughed. "Oh yeah! I guess I did!" He dropped one of Aaron's legs, but pushed the leg of his trousers up a little of the other leg. "He had a gun."

"You'd better make sure he doesn't still have one." Doyle said. "Is he alive?" he asked Bjorn.

Bjorn bent down next to him. "Yes he is. He's dehydrated, and won't last long without water. But at the moment, he's alive."

Doyle smiled. "We might be able to use him as persuasion with our white boy. We might even get something for him. Not much though, the state he's in. He seems pretty determined to stay with us!" Doyle made a sound that could have been a laugh. Then he took control again. "Ok, Bjorn, go start her up and get co-ordinates off Timpson. Hunt, search him, give him a drink, and tie him up the pointed end. He can be our figure head!"

Bjorn clenched his fists in fury, but as usual, obeyed the order. Hunt kicked the supine man a time or two, and dragged him by his legs towards the prow, smiling happily. If there was one thing he liked more than killing women, it was torturing men.


	9. Persuasion’s Beginning

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 9  
Persuasion's Beginning

"_**Not the torturer will scare me, nor the body's final fall, nor the barrels of death's rifles, nor the shadows on the wall, nor the night when to the ground the last dim star of pain is hurled but the blind indifference of a merciless, unfeeling world."**__** - Roger Waters **_

He knelt Aaron in the prow of the boat, facing in. He knew of course, that he should have been facing ahead, but watching their faces was the biggest part of the buzz he got when he tortured his victims. Also it was more fun if they were conscious, and their screams totally sent him!

He leaned Aaron back against the rail, and strapped his forearms stretched out along the top. His thick dark hair was a mess of dried blood and stuck to his forehead; his head fell forward and he hung away from the prow. As the boat ploughed through the water, the warm air rushed past him, and dried the blood that was still running down his back. Hunt ran his hands down the sides of his legs and checked the pockets of his trousers to make sure he didn't still have a gun.

Now he had to waken him. There was a fire bucket under one of the benches, which was filled ready with sea water. He took the bucket and threw the water into Aaron's face.

He murmured slightly and lifted his head to see where he was. Hunt was crouching in front of him. He caught hold of his hair and pulled up his head so that he was looking into his eyes.

"Bet you never thought it would be this way round, did you, Special Agent Hotchner?" He smiled. "I could never understand the 'Special'. What makes you special, huh? You don't look too special from where I'm standing."

Aaron looked at him without flinching. "Go to hell." he said faintly. Hunt drew back his fist, and holding Aaron's head still, punched him hard on the left cheek. Aaron didn't make a sound. His eyes rolled up, and his head jerked against the pulling of his hair. Hunt thought he was going to pass out, but defiantly, Aaron kept his eyes open and trained on him.

"Beating me won't make you less of a cold blooded murderer, nor will it make you more of a man." Aaron said. "It just proves I was right about you."

Hunt gritted his teeth, and smashed the back of Aaron's head against the metal barrier. Aaron let out an involuntary cry as his skull made a crunching sound as it impacted with the ironwork. Blood and hair caught on the bolts that held the structure, and when Hunt released his head, he fell forward again with a sigh.

"Don't you sleep now!" he hissed, and pulled Aaron's face up so that they were again looking into each other's eyes. "Where is the other agent?"

"Dead." Aaron whispered. "I couldn't get him off the boat. He's dead."

"Where's the other one?" Hunt asked again. "Don't lie to me."

"He's dead." Aaron said again. "He went down with the boat. I couldn't get him off."

Hunt showed Aaron a bottle of water. "Tell me the truth. Where is he? And you can have a drink."

Aaron looked at the water; he ached to drink it, but not at the cost of Dave's life. That is, if he was still alive. Aaron couldn't give him up, but if he didn't, he would die in the boat. If he gave him up, they would kill him. He looked at the water.

"He's dead." he whispered hoarsely. "I couldn't save him."

Hunt opened the bottle, and put it to Aaron's lips. He tipped it up, and Aaron's mouth filled with the foul sea water. He gagged and coughed, and tried not to swallow. Hunt removed the bottle, and held his hand across Aaron's mouth and nose. Aaron's eyes went wide, as he fought for breath.

"Swallow." Hunt said. Aaron had no choice, and he took down the salt water. Hunt removed his hand, and Aaron was violently sick. He coughed and gagged, and he couldn't stop his stomach from rejecting the water. His eyes watered with the ferocity of the spasms, and when his stomach had quit cramping, he moaned softly and hung his head down.

"Now, are you going to tell me where the other agent is?"

"He's dead." Aaron croaked. "His name was David Rossi, and I let him die." He raised his head. "I had to let him die. I couldn't save him."

Hunt picked up a length of metal bar that was on the deck. "I don't believe you." and he swung the bar and hit Aaron across the lower chest. Aaron felt several ribs give way, and he pulled forwards, and tried to protect himself. He made a sucking sound as he bit into his lip again. He wanted to scream, but was determined not to give Hunt the satisfaction. He turned his head and looked up at Hunt.

"He's dead. Dave is dead, and I couldn't save him."

Hunt lifted Aaron's head and kicked him under the chin. His head snapped back, and something in his neck cracked. He held Aaron's bloody jaw tightly in his hand and twisted his head to look at him. Aaron groaned as his head moved, and blood ran from between his lips.

"Don't go away. I have something of yours."

Aaron blinked in confusion. The lack of water was taking its toll, and he could feel the sun beating down on his bare back, sucking more moisture out of his body. He was finding it hard to remember what was happening. He tried to keep the eye contact, but his eyes rolled back. Hunt shook him roughly.

"Don't sleep now, before you have seen what I have of yours."

He let go of Aaron, and left him bound and beaten in the hot Florida sun.

-0-0-0-

As the sun rose in the sky, the dark hiding place where Dave was lying became warmer, and the air became damp. As the sun's warmth drew him slowly out of hypothermia, he began to breathe more regularly, as his body warmed. He was slowly becoming aware of self, and the dull agony of the gunshot wound was slowly making itself known.

He was vaguely aware that Aaron had been with him. He felt comfortable, and warm, and he silently thanked him.

He couldn't move or speak, but he managed to open his eyes. Where ever he was, it was warm damp and dark. Aaron wasn't there, but he had left him safe and hidden. He tried to move again, but he was too weak and even the failed effort was too much, and he slipped once again into the darkness of unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-

Spencer fell asleep hugging the damp pillow. He wasn't tired, but it was as if his body was letting him sleep rather than face the day. In the back of his mind he heard the door unlock, and his consciousness surfaced. Still holding the pillow, he turned onto his back. He didn't say anything; he clung onto the pillow as if it offered him life saving protection. He was too miserable and distressed to be able to speak. He didn't really care what they were going to do to him. Now Aaron Hotchner was dead, Reid no longer cared.

Hunt had gone and found Rossendo. The Spaniard was a psychopath, and as such would make an interesting torture partner. He could kill him alter if necessary, but he thought he may not have to. He could prove interesting. Now the two of them went across the cabin to Reid, and also without saying anything, pulled him off the bed and onto his feet. Rossendo pulled the pillow away from Reid and threw it onto the floor. Reid felt suddenly vulnerable and exposed. He bent forwards; he wanted to wrap his arms around himself and curl up. He was forced upright, and dragged out of the cabin.

"Where are you t-taking me?" he asked, trying not to scream every time his injured leg touched the floor.

"We have something nice for you to look at." Rossendo said nastily, squeezing Spencer's arm harder than necessary. "I think it will surprise you!"

Spencer turned to him in bewilderment.

"Here we are!" Hunt announced as they approached the prow of the boat. Spencer looked up and the horror of what he saw took away his breath.

"Oh my god! Aaron!" He struggled to get out of the grip of the two men, who let him go. Spencer fell forward, and, dragging his injured leg, crawled to Aaron. He reached his arms around him and held him close.

"Aaron. Oh god, Aaron!" He pulled back, and pushed his hair back. His face was cut and bruised, and his mouth was bleeding. He was almost unrecognisable. Reid stroked his face gently. "Aaron, Hotch……why are they doing this? How? How did you get here?"

Aaron made a soft sound; his eyes remained closed. Was this another trick to make him give Dave up?

"Hotch, it's me, Spencer. Please, can you look at me?"

Aaron's eyes fluttered, and he opened them a crack.

"Spencer…." he breathed. "Oh, Spencer! I thought…..they'd killed you…."

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he shut them tightly. He would not let them see him cry.

"Ok, enough." Hunt said, and pulled Spencer away. Aaron lowered his head again.

"Don't hurt him." Aaron whispered. "Let him go….."

Suddenly, a cry from Reid made Aaron look up. They were holding him, and Rossendo was tapping a knife at Spencer's throat.

"So!" Hunt said. "Where is David Rossi? Or he'll cut his goddamned head off."

Aaron blinked agonisingly. "Dave is dead." he whispered, and if finally became too much, and he fainted.

"Aaron! Hotch!" Spencer cried. The two men started to drag Reid away, to put him back in the cabin, and lock him in again. Reid twisted in their arms, desperately trying to look back at Hotch. But Hunt and Rossendo were far stronger, and Spencer couldn't see Aaron any more.

"Why are you doing this?" Spencer asked. "You will be caught you know. Three federal agents and a Miami cop. They won't rest until they have caught and punished you."

Rossendo twisted Reid's arm up behind his back. Reid yelped.

"Shut up." he said, as Reid bent his body round to alleviate the pain.

They threw Reid back into his cabin, and he stumbled onto his knees. He bit down on his lip to stop the cry that was building up. The pain from his knee was making his eyes water. He lay down and curled onto his side, and listened as they locked him in again.

_Aaron was alive! Oh god, he was alive! Somehow, he got off the boat before it sank. And now they want to know where Rossi is. Oh Aaron! You are alive!! I can't believe it!_

A new determination welled up within him. He had to free Aaron before they killed him. Because he was in no doubt that they would, as soon as his usefulness had passed. The task ahead gave Reid something, a new strength, something to fight for. Because fight he would. The man he was mourning only a short while ago was still alive, and the chance that he though he had lost was back. This time, he would tell him how much he loved him. He wouldn't let that chance pass by again.

He wrapped his arms around his legs, and tried to think.


	10. Sunlight

THE COLLECTION  
Chapter 10  
Sunlight

_**Bertrand Russell wrote, "An hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgment based upon it.**_"

Morgan put the phone down. "That was Miami Dade PD. They have just had a call from Acuera. Their cop who went with Reid and Hotch has just been fished from the sea with his face blown away."

Emily was already on the phone calling Hotch. "No answer. I'll try Reid and Rossi." They sat in anxious silence for a few seconds. "Nothing!"

Morgan was on his feet. "I'll have Garcia track the boat." he said, taking the steps two at a time.

"I'll call Miami. And get the jet prepped."

Morgan burst into Garcia's bunker - not that she minded if Morgan didn't knock. She flashed him her dazzling smile.

"Hey, Dusky Beau. What do you need?"

"Can you find the police launch that was transporting Hunt?" he said, taking a seat next to her. "Miami have just called; their cop who was going with our men has just been found murdered, and we can't contact our agents.

A look of fear flashed across her face as she swung her chair around to her monitors, and searched for the signal. A map of the Miami coastline came up, and a red circle where the island is. Slowly, a thin red line was drawn from the circle, but it wasn't following the line which represented the registered course. Then the line stopped moving. A window opened.

'Signal lost.'

Garcia turned to Morgan, as he read out loud what was on the screen. "Signal lost? What does that mean?" he said to her. "They disabled the signal? Is it out of range? What?"

"Either the signal was destroyed, or the boat was. If it was disabled, the satellite would still pick up a residual reading." she answered, her fingers flying across the keys. "I can't pick up any of the three GPS signals from our men's cells either."

"Keep sweeping the area, Baby Girl. Prentiss and I are going to fly out to Miami and co-ordinate a search. Find as much as you can on All Hunt's known associates. He had help here. And scan for any other boats in the vicinity, in case they transferred to another vessel."

Garcia nodded briefly, all her concentration now on the work in hand.

-0-0-0-

Reid sat on his bunk, looking around for something he could use as a weapon. Now he knew that Aaron was still alive, he had a purpose. He had to get them out of here.

There was nothing. Only a piece of a chair, a length of wood. He picked up the chair and thought about how he could break it without making a noise. The only way would be to bring it down hard onto the bed. He raised it over his head and swung it down onto the mattress. The chair creaked but didn't break, two more times, though, and it splintered apart.

Reid took the longest piece, one of the back legs that rose to form the chair back, and swung it around, trying to feel the balance of it. The rest of the wood, he pushed under the bed. He bunched the quilt up to make it look as if he was in bed, and turned the light down. Anyone glancing in would think he was asleep. He stood back and inspected his work. It was ok, but wouldn't stand up to close examination. But then, it was only to give him a little head start.

Now to find a way out. There were only two possible routes out. The door or the port hole. He went to the port hole, leaning on the chair leg, and opened it. It opened directly onto the sea, with a narrow gunwale around the side, a few feet below the opening. It would be tight, but he thought he could make it. He would have to go out feet first, giving him a better chance of getting back if it was too small.

He limped over then to check the door. It was locked, but it wouldn't be too hard to open it. The port hole offered a better hiding place though. Once he had got out, he could stand on the gunwale, fairly well hidden.

The next thing was to figure out how to get through feet first. He looked around for inspiration.

-0-0-0-

Aaron didn't know if he was asleep or awake. The things he was seeing were normally spectres of nightmares, but he was almost certain that he was awake. Something touched his leg, and he forced his eyes open and looked down. The things growing from the deck, between the grooves, and along his legs were steadily climbing towards his chest, grey tentacles feeling their way to his unprotected skin. He moaned in confusion, and tried to pull his arms away from the rail to push them off, but he couldn't move. Holding his head up, he looked into the sun. He could feel his skin burning and blistering as the things crept upwards toward his face. With all his strength he pulled his feet forwards, and tried to stand. There wasn't enough room, and he could feel the things sucking onto his chest and burning him and he screamed and the things slipped effortlessly into his mouth and down his throat and his screams became crushed and there was no one to help as they drew his life out and he wanted to be sick but they wouldn't let him and the things spread through his body and he screamed silently into the sun………

_For god's sake, someone, help me………………………….._

Aaron rocked back and the things dragged him down into darkness and Aaron passed out………..

-0-0-0-

Reid dragged the other chair over to the port hole. He faced it towards the wall, and crouched on it. Carefully, he put his feet through the opening, and used the chair back to raise his body level with his feet. He pushed his feet then his hips out, and let his body drop on the other side. It took a moment or two of panic for his feet to find the ledge, and when he did, he sighed with relief. Keeping his arms tight against the sides, he carefully lowered himself so that his weight was on the gunwale. When he was free of the porthole, he pulled the chair leg out with him. Leaning back in, he pushed the chair as far along the bulkhead as he could reach, and pulled the port hole closed after him. He stepped painfully a few metres along, away from the opening, and clung to the side of the boat, breathing heavily, getting his breath back.

That was when he heard the scream.

It didn't sound like Aaron. It was a scream of terror, not pain. It sounded unearthly and afraid. Spencer edged along the ledge towards the prow, listening carefully. Another cry, this one was choked, different. The sound made Reid's hair prickle on the back of his neck.

_Aaron, what's happening?….._

Spencer shivered. He needed to find Aaron and free him. He couldn't let this carry on.

He reached the end of the bulkhead, and peered around the corner towards Hotch.

-0-0-0-

Rossendo was forcing Aaron's head back and pouring water down his throat. Aaron wasn't fighting; he was hanging from the rail where he had been bound, and one of his legs was bent up in front of him, as if he was trying to stand up. He coughed and choked on the water, and Spencer saw his stomach tighten and go into spasms as he threw up.

He moved back out of sight and put his hand on his forehead.

_What the hell are they doing to you?_

He could hear Hunt and Rossendo laughing.

"We'd better leave him for a bit, or he'll be dead." Hunt's voice.

"So? What we keeping him for anyway?" Rossendo's voice.

"Keep this to yourself, Ross, but I think out great leader fancies him!" The two men started to laugh harder as they walked away.

Spencer waited impatiently as the voices moved away. When he heard a door close, he jumped off the ledge and ran to Aaron. He knelt in front of him, and gently raised his head. Aaron's eyes were wide open, and filled with terror. He put down the chair leg, and held Aaron's face with his two hands and looked into dark frightened eyes.

"Aaron, It's me, Spencer. I've come to free you."

Aaron started to shake, and his eyes rolled in their sockets. Spencer saw the bottle of water at Aaron's feet, and he picked it up. He tipped a little onto his finger and tasted it. They were forcing him to drink sea water.

_Oh no, Aaron!!_

Reid needed to get him sweet water and quickly. He put his arms around him and held him while the convulsion passed. God only knew how much he had been forced to drink, and Spencer knew that in thirty nine percent of cases, it was fatal. But diluted two to one with sweet water, it could be diluted enough for the kidneys to handle it.

Spencer stood up and checked what was holding Aaron onto the rail. It looked like tape, wound round and round his bare arms. He started to undo it, but it was taking too long.

"Aaron, I need to cut this tape. I am going to get something to cut it with. And I am going to get you out of here."

He lifted Aaron's face up again. His eyes were closed, but beneath his eyelids, his eyes were moving. He held Aaron to his chest and stroked his hair. "You will be ok, Aaron. Just hold on."

Aaron pulled his face away, and tried to look up at Spencer. He was struggling to speak.

"Don't try to speak, Aaron."

Aaron shook his head, as if to shake away the demons in his brain. "Dave……."

Spencer wasn't sure if he heard properly. "Dave? Is he here?" he said gently.

Aaron started to shake again, and his back arched as the convulsion once again took him. His eyes fixed on Spencer as he helplessly lost control. Reid held onto him. As he was released once again, he spoke. Reid lowered his head close.

"Dave….life boat…." Aaron's eye suddenly filled with tears and he screamed again.

_Help me help me help me help me…………_

Reid touched Aaron on the cheek with the back of his hand, and stood. Aaron was fighting unknown terrors, groaning and crying out from a place no one else could go.

"I'll bring you water, Aaron. I love you."

Spencer picked up his weapon, and ran back to the shadows of the bulkhead, out of the fierce sun, and crept back onto the ledge. He needed a knife, and some water, and he needed to find Rossi.

Life boat. Is that what he said? Dave was in the life boat?

He made his way cautiously along the boat. There was a life boat on each side of the craft. If he could get Aaron into the one where Dave was, maybe that was their escape route.

When he reached the boat on this side, using the length of wood, he leaned down and pushed back the cover.

Dave was not there. He had to get to the other side. For once he was grateful for the sun. It was keeping the others inside. He moved to the stern and, crouching low and keeping out of the light as best he could, he crossed to the other side.

He walked soundlessly pressed against the bulkhead. He was about three feet from the galley door, when Bjorn stepped out into the sun, and turned, looking straight at him.

Spencer froze.


	11. Together

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 11  
Together

_**Dwayne T. Robinson: 'They're gonna need some more FBI guys, I guess.' (Die Hard)**_

For a tiny moment in time the scene didn't change. The two men stared at each other, and to Spencer it felt like a life time. Then Bjorn rushed at him. Spencer swung his weapon at the man. Bjorn swerved to the side, and the length of wood whipped through the air, missing its target. Spencer was off balanced, and took a step to the side. Bjorn leaped at him, knocking him down with his arm around his waist. Spencer was winded, and the weapon dropped from his hand, his arms out at his sides, he was helpless beneath the bigger man. Bjorn drew back his fist and punched Reid in the face. Reid cried out as he heard a crack as his nose fractured, and blood sprayed onto his assailant. He was temporarily blinded as his blood ran into the hollows of his eyes. He raised his arms in a futile attempt to push his attacker off him. He tried to remember everything that Derek had taught him, but he was never the best at unarmed combat. He stretched out his arm, trying to find the wood. Bjorn pulled his head up and smacked it down onto the deck. Reid groaned. He was becoming dizzy, losing the fight; he tried to roll over to escape, and Bjorn held him down and hit him again in the mouth. His teeth cut deeply into the side of his cheek, and blood trickled from his lips. Bjorn leaned forwards, holding him down at the shoulders.

"So, Pretty Boy, where do you think you are going?" the blond man hissed. He released Reid's left shoulder, and reached into the back of his waist band. In one smooth movement, he had the gun pressing onto Reid's face, into the bloody mess that was his nose. Spencer blinked away the blood and tears and stared at him with wide hazel eyes.

"Say bye-bye, Sweet Thing." and the gun clicked a bullet into place.

At the very limit of his fading vision, Spencer saw a movement. And something swiped through the air. It smacked the man on the side of his head with a sickening crunch, and Bjorn fell to the side, dropping the gun.

Spencer looked up, blinking into the sun.

"Bye-bye, Sweet Thing." Rossi said, and the wooden chair leg fell from his hand and he collapsed onto his knees.

"Dave!……" Spencer said, crawling painfully towards him.

Dave was on his hands and knees, his head was down, and he was gasping for air. "Get him over the side, quickly, before anyone comes."

Spencer looked at the fallen man, and for a split second, he was undecided. Then he remembered what he had been doing to Aaron. And the feel of cold steel on his face. With no more hesitation, he rolled Bjorn's body to the edge, and tipped him into the sea. Then he was at Dave's side.

Dave moaned softly and fell onto his side. "Get Aaron." he whispered. "We have to get off here.

"Dave, I'll get you hidden again. Then I need to get some water to Aaron."

"Oh……" Dave was fading. Reid held his face steady.

"Dave, I'll hide you again, then I'll bring Aaron to you." He saw Dave's eyes were fluttering closed. Spencer shook him gently. "Dave, don't you go anywhere. Look at me! I'm going to get you both out!" Dave's head lolled weakly. "Dave! Stop it! Wake up!"

Spencer wanted to shout, but he daren't with the UnSubs so close. He pulled Dave over to the side of the boat, and looked across to the life boat.

"Dave, you have to help me here. I have to get you back down, and I don't have the strength."

Dave was unconscious. Spencer looked round helplessly. He was running out of time. He wasn't able to get Rossi onto the life boat without his help.

He heard voices. Someone was coming, and his time was up.

There was a stairway behind him. There was blood spread over the deck, where someone else had hidden here before.

Aaron?

Reid pulled Dave into the dark space behind the steps where only hours before, Aaron had hidden. He leaned Dave into the furthest corner, and sat in front of him.

He was aware that Dave had saved his life twice today, even taking a bullet that could still kill him. Now he would protect this man with his own life.

He pressed as far into the corner as he could, and held his breath.

-0-0-0-

"Where the hell is Bjorn, the idle bastard?" Doyle strode along the deck, and stood at the foot of the stairs. "Find him Rossendo. He's the only one who can drive this!" He punched the hand rail. "And tell Hunt to bring our Fed to my cabin. I have some questions I want answers to."

Spencer heard footsteps as the Spaniard went off to find Bjorn. It wouldn't take long, Reid thought before they realised that something was wrong. He had to be quick.

Spencer turned to Dave.

"I'm not sure if you are hearing this Dave, But I am going g to get Aaron, then I am coming back for you." he whispered. "Don't move. I won't leave you."

Leaning on his chair leg, he crept out of the hiding place, and, keeping his back against the bulkhead, moved towards the front of the boat. The door to the galley was open, and he saw there on the work top, a pack of bottled water. Slipping into the galley, he took it, and as he was about to leave, he grabbed a knife from the knife block and slipped it into his pocket. The pack was too heavy to manage if he was going to get Aaron, so he returned to Dave, and left the water there. He removed a bottle from the pack and put it in Dave's hand.

"It's water, for when you wake up." he whispered, and crept out again.

When he reached the end of the bulkhead, he realised that he was too late. He watched as Hunt slid a knife along Aaron's arms, cutting through the tape and into his skin. Aaron fell onto the deck, and didn't move. The cuts on his arms bled onto the deck. Reid held the chair leg. He had to act now, or Aaron was going to be dragged in front of Doyle, and he remembered what Bjorn had said.

_Keep this to yourself, Ross, but I think out great leader fancies him._

Reid wasn't going to let this happen again.

Hunt started to drag Aaron across the deck. Aaron was un-moving, and made no sound. The only way Spencer could be sure that the man he loved was still living, was that his arms were bleeding, and dripping red drops onto the deck.

He couldn't let this happen. He would die first. He waited until Hunt had his back to him, and he stepped forward and swung the chair leg, hitting the big man on the back of his head.

Hunt dropped Aaron, but he didn't go down. Spencer held the weapon ready for another strike, Hunt swung round, pointing a gun straight at him.

This time, Dave wasn't there to help. Spencer dropped the weapon, and raised his hands, palms out.

Hunt touched his bleeding head. "That was a big mistake." he said. "Get on your knees."

Spencer put his hands behind his head and knelt down. The pressure on his knee made his eyes water, and tears cut through the blood that was drying on his face. He looked at Aaron. He still hadn't moved.

"Crawl!" Hunt said. "Back to the cabin. This time, you won't get away so easily."

Spencer put his hands on the deck in front of him, and began to crawl. Each movement shot pain through his leg, as he slowly moved towards the cabin that had been his prison.

"I c-can't do this….." he gasped. "It hurts…..too much…."

Suddenly his elbows gave way, and he fell onto his face. "Can't……..go on….."

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He sensed Hunt's shadow fall across him as he came closer. Once again, he felt the cold steel of the gun in his face.

Spencer struck. He plunged the knife into Hunt's abdomen and at the same time, he knocked the gun away from his face. Hunt clawed at the knife as Spencer pushed it in up to the hilt. Hunt's eyes widened in shock, and fell forwards onto him. Spencer pushed him off, and as he had done with Bjorn, he rolled Hunt's body to the edge, and let him drop into the sea.

Spencer didn't move for a few seconds. He lay on his back, trying to catch his breath, then he turned his attention to Aaron.

He was still motionless on the deck where Hunt had dropped him and there was blood everywhere. He had to move Aaron before Doyle came out to find out what was going on.

He held Aaron around the waist, and pulled him upright. He held his arm around his neck, and half dragged, half walked him back to where Dave was hiding.

Reid so needed to stop and rest, but these two men needed him to keep his head, and keep going. Dave hadn't woken up. He couldn't give either of them water until they were awake. He sat in the hot darkness, and lifted Aaron onto his lap, gently resting his head on his leg.

"Hey, Aaron, can you hear me?"

Aaron didn't move or respond. Spencer poured a little water onto his hand and touched it onto Aaron's lips.

"It's fresh water, Aaron. Don't be afraid to take it." he whispered. "It's ok."

He gently stroked Aaron's hair, speaking softly to him. "Aaron, please, wake up. Please take a little water."

The man in his arms moaned softly. "That's it, wake up. It's Spencer. You need to drink."

Aaron opened his mouth and licked the precious water from his lips.

"There, that's good. Now a little more." Spencer dripped more water onto his lips, and watched with profound relief as he took it.

"You're doing great, Aaron. This is going to make you well." he said, tears in his eyes. "Now I am going to go and help Dave. But I'm not leaving you. Ok?"

He moved away from Aaron and took the water to Dave. He was not as deeply unconscious as Aaron, so Spencer sat him against the bulkhead, and helped him to hold the bottle to his lips. He took some water, but he took it too quickly, and started to cough. Spencer took the water away and held his hand gently over his mouth.

"No, Dave." he whispered. "Please, don't. They'll find us."

Dave blinked and looked into the darkness towards Spencer.

"I'm sorry." he said, his voice croaky and dry. He reached up to take the water from Spencer. "Help Aaron."

Spencer nodded, and went back to Aaron. He sat him against his bended knee, and leaned Aaron's head on his chest. He tipped the water to his lips, and Aaron sucked on it.

"Hey, Aaron, not so fast. It will make you sick." Aaron raised his hand to the bottle. "It's ok; I'm not going to take it away."

As he sat there, he thought about what he needed to do next. There were four men on the boat, and two were dead. Now there were only two left, they had a chance. When Doyle realised that Hunt wasn't going to come back with Aaron, there would be a search of the boat, and they would be found.

Reid had to strike first.

He had lost the knife. He wished he had thought to remove it from Hunt's chest before he dropped him into the sea. He had left the wood back at the prow. So the first thing he had to do was go back and fetch it. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it hadn't failed him yet.

He lay Aaron down towards the back of the alcove.

"I'm going back to fetch the only weapon we have." he said softly. "Please, stay here. I will be coming back, I promise."

Dave reached out and took Spencer's hand. "Be careful." he whispered hoarsely. "We need you."

Spencer gave his hand a squeeze. "I am coming back."

He turned and crept back out of their hiding place. He suddenly realised that he was shaking. A lot depended on him. He wiped the blood off his mouth, and, trying to ignore the pain in his leg, he made his way to the front of the boat again.


	12. Where are my men?

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 12  
"Where are my men?"

_**Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race" - Calvin Coolidge **_

Rossendo burst into Doyle's cabin. "He's not anywhere!" he panted. "He's not on the boat."

"Are you certain?" he answered, a frown on his face. "Have you checked his cabin? The engines?"

"Yes. I've checked everywhere. He's definitely not on board." Rossendo said.

"Crap!" Doyle pushed past the Spaniard. "What the hell's going on here? Where's Hunt? He was bringing the Fed here to me." He took a gun from his pocket and left his room. Rossendo sat down. He hoped that Bjorn had gone over board. He'd never liked the man, and now was his chanced to get some recognition from the Boss at last. He smiled to himself. If Doyle was going to 'interrogate' the Fed, maybe he could join in! He got up, and followed Doyle out into the mid day sun. If he was going to prove his worth, now was a good time to start.

He quickly caught up with Doyle and he walked beside him, his gun drawn, knees bent, like he'd seen on TV. It was like a game. Rossendo was enjoying himself.

"Go and get the kid and bring him to my cabin." Doyle said. Rossendo nodded, and turned towards the room where Spencer had been locked. He quickly opened the door and strode to the bed. He poked at the quilt with the gun.

"Get up!" he said with as much authority as he could muster. When there was no movement, he snatched the covers off the bed.

Swearing under his breath, he ran out of the cabin to catch up with his Boss.

"Hey Boss, he's not ………." Rossendo stopped short. Doyle was standing pointing his gun straight ahead. About ten feet in front of him stood the kid; the cause of all this mess.

"Where's the other Fed. And where are my men?"

Reid didn't answer. He stood and stared at the gun that couldn't fail to hit him if this man chose to shoot. The piece of wood was the other side of Doyle, and he had no hope of getting it. Under the edge of a bench at the side of the boat, Reid could see Hunt's gun. He took a small step towards it.

"Don't you move!" shouted Doyle, and he shot a bullet into the deck a few inches in front of Reid. He jumped back.

"Where are my men, and where is the other Fed?" he shouted, louder this time. "Rossendo, bring him to my cabin!"

Reid had no choice but to follow the man. Rossendo had a gun pressed into his back and he had no doubt whatsoever that he would use it. He was pushed forward through the door into Doyle's cabin.

"Hold his arms!" Rossendo pulled Reid's arms behind his back, and held his wrists up towards the back of his neck. Reid gasped as his muscles twisted. Doyle stood close to him and looked into his face.

"Where are they?"

Reid remained silent. Doyle raised his fist and swung it into Reid's face. His head rocked to the side, his hair falling across his face. Blood ran freely from his mouth and nose.

"Where are they!" he repeated, and hit Reid on the other side of his face. Spencer felt something give in his neck as his head was forced in the other direction. Blood swept in a long arc across the room. His head fell forwards.

Doyle pulled his head up, gripping his long hair. Spencer struggled to open his eyes. He had learned this defiance from Aaron. If he was going to be killed here today, he would die rebelliously, not meekly giving up to these men. He stared at Doyle through swollen bloody eyes.

Doyle glanced at Rossendo. "Let him go, and find the other Fed."

Rossendo let go of Spencer's arms, and left the cabin. Spencer collapsed onto his knees. He let out a cry of pain as he hit the deck. He put out his hands to stop himself from falling on his face, but his arms were hurting from being bent up his back, and he just crumpled down in front of his assailant. Doyle looked down at him with contempt.

"Get up. Now."

Reid put his hands on the floor in front of him, and forced his knees to take his weight. He was determined not to appear weak in front of this creep. Carefully and slowly, he got up and stood swaying. His nose and mouth were pouring gouts of blood onto the floor, and he didn't think Doyle had finished with him yet. He blinked his eyes open and watched Doyle through blood soaked hair.

"Where are they?" he said in a low tone, emphasising each syllable.

Reid made no sound apart from the ragged breathing through his broken nose and bloody smashed lips.

Doyle punched him square in the face. Reid took a step back, and fell back hard, smacking his head on a table as he fell. He landed on the floor beside the table, face up, his eyes closed. He didn't cry out or make a sound as Doyle kicked him in the ribs in a rage. His body just rocked under the assault.

"Sonofabitch! Where are they?"

-0-0-0-

The grey things were on the deck again, crawling towards Aaron' unprotected body. He dropped the bottle he was holding and pushed further into the corner. Dave put an arm around him.

"Aaron, it's ok, it isn't real. You're hallucinating."

Dave tried to get Aaron's attention. He forced his head round so that he was looking straight at him. "Aaron! Look at me!"

Aaron's eyes were on the things - the tentacles. They would burn; he had felt them before. He couldn't look away - he was mesmerised by them, slowly growing, creeping, slithering, making sucky noises as they wound around him and over his chest and tight! Tight around his neck. He clawed at them, but there was nothing in his power that he could do to slow them or stop them. He wanted to keep his mouth closed, but as they tightened on his neck, he screamed and clutched at his face, pulling, scratching, tearing.

Dave held him tight. "Aaron! They are not real!" he whispered. He touched him gently, pulling his hands from his face where his nails were cutting his skin and drawing blood. Suddenly Aaron shrieked, and pushed Dave away. In a burst of energy generated by abject terror, he rolled out of his hiding place and half crawled, half ran, towards the side of the boat.

"No! Aaron, NO!" Dave tried to make a grab for him, drag him back into the dark, but Aaron was too quick. Dave wasn't fast enough, his abdominal wound was bleeding again, and he was weak from blood loss.

"Oh god, Aaron, no!" he cried out softly, reaching out as far as he could.

Approaching footsteps. Rossi didn't know for a moment what he should do. He couldn't help Aaron if he was caught as well. So far, no one knew he was on the boat. He drew back and watched with frustration and worry as a Spaniard stopped and looked down on him.

He said something to Aaron, who was lying on his back, crying and pulling at an invisible attacker. Rossendo smiled a white toothy smile, and bent down, and held Aaron under the arms. Aaron squirmed and fought against him. Rossendo hit Aaron's head against the bulkhead.

"Shut the hell up!"

Aaron went limp in the Spaniard's grip, and Rossi watched helplessly as Aaron was dragged away.

-0-0-0-

Dave sat back against the corner.

What on earth was he going to do? He looked down at the water bottles. The first thing he needed to do was get his strength back if he was going to help his friends. He opened one bottle, and drunk it down. He knew that drinking too much water too quickly could bring on a heart attack from hyponatraemia.

But he had to regain his strength. There were at least two UnSubs, and just the three of them, wounded and sick. He waited a few minutes, and opened a second bottle. The symptoms to watch for, he knew, were light headedness, and dizziness. Unfortunately, he already felt those because of the extensive blood loss. He sighed, and drank the water.

The gunshot to his abdomen was shooting agonising pain through his body, and losing more blood was seriously weakening him. He put the bottle down, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to control the pain, and weakness.

Aaron and probably Spencer too, as he hadn't returned, both were depending on him. Aaron was very sick. He hoped and prayed that he would be in time to help them.

He tried moving, and he gasped as the pain hit again. Tears streamed down his face as he held onto the back or the stairs and stood up. He removed his jacket, took off his shirt, and made a makeshift bandage with it, to try to stop the bleeding at the front and the exit in his lower back. Each breath was a soft cry, as he pressed onto the wound and tied the cloth tightly around him. He noticed the blood was through even before he had finished. He put his jacket back on, and carefully stepped out into the light.

There was blood smeared all over the deck, where Aaron had fought his hallucination. He looked around for a weapon but there was nothing. There was a door open to the right. Holding onto the wall, he staggered towards the door.

Peering carefully into the room, he saw that it was a kitchen of sorts. There was a carton of milk, which he took and drank. There were some knives in a block, and he took one of those.

Suddenly a horrible scream cut through the air from the other end of the boat, and Rossi's blood ran cold in his veins.

He didn't have time. Spencer and Aaron were going to die if he just stood there. If he was caught, he would die too. But if he did nothing, they would find and kill him anyway. If he made a good offence, he might be able to save a life.

It was up to him to try. He took another knife, finished the milk, and left the galley, making his way towards the cries he could still hear.

-0-0-0-

Aaron was still unconscious when Rossendo dragged him into Doyle's cabin. Doyle smiled at his man.

"Good." he said. "Now we have them both, we can use one to get information out of the other."

He threw water into Spencer's face, and he opened his eyes slowly. Doyle pulled him upright by his shirt. Spencer glanced towards Rossendo and his heart broke when he saw Aaron lying on the floor. His eyes were wide open, a look of intense fear on his face, but he wasn't moving. Doyle pushed Spencer against the wall, and pulled his face round to look at him.

"Where are my men? Are there any more Feds on board?"

Reid just stared back into Doyle's eyes. Doyle looked past Reid to Rossendo and nodded. Rossendo picked Aaron up and threw him against the bulkhead and hit him. Aaron blinked his dark eyes and Rossendo hit him again. Reid felt tears in his eyes.

"Don't….." he said. "Stop. Please, stop."

"Where are my men? Are there any more Feds on board?"

"I c-can't t-tell you….."

Doyle nodded to Rossendo again……………………………..


	13. Drawing In

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 13  
Drawing in

_**An old proverb says, 'Good men must die, but death cannot kill their names.' **_

"No! Please, don't hurt him!" Spencer cried, as Rossendo drew back a fist to strike Aaron again. Reid struggled against Doyle, who was holding him against the wall. Rossendo ignored Spencer's pleas, and hit Aaron again hard in the stomach. He stood back and allowed Aaron to collapse on the deck. Aaron groaned, and reached his bleeding arms out in front of him, trying to drag himself away from his attacker. Rossendo drew back a foot and kicked him. Aaron threw up blood and fluid onto the floor, clutching his stomach and writhing in agony. Rossendo put his hand in Aaron's hair and pulled him up, preparing to hit him again.

"No! Stop!" Spencer didn't know how much more Aaron could take. "I'll tell you! Please, stop hurting him!"

Doyle nodded to Rossendo who let Hotch fall back onto the floor. He curled up and moaned in pain and distress.

"Give him a drink." Rossendo smiled, and went to the bar in the corner of the cabin. He took a bottle of gin from the rack and unscrewed the optic. He went back to Aaron and pulled his head back gripping his hair. He tipped the clear fluid into Aaron's mouth.

Aaron coughed and choked as he was forced to swallow the spirit. When half the liquid had gone he dropped him back down again.

Reid watched as Aaron passed out on the floor. Rossendo took the bottle back to the bar.

"So, where is the other Fed?"

Reid said. "There are no more Agents on board."

Doyle pulled Reid from the wall and threw him into a chair.

"Don't lie to me, kid. I know there's someone else here. You tell me where he is, I'll stop this."

"There's no-one else." Reid whispered. Doyle turned to Rossendo.

"Again."

Reid closed his eyes as Rossendo picked Hotch up by the hair and hit him in the face again. Hotch no longer made a sound. The only thing Spencer could hear was the sound of a fist against bloody and broken flesh. He slowly opened his eyes when he heard Aaron's body falling again.

"Get rid of that one."

Reid stood up and tried to get past Doyle

Rossendo smiled and pushed Aaron towards the door with his foot. He moaned and his eye lids fluttered and he raised his arms in a frail attempt to move; he tried to roll away, but he was too weak and Rossendo held his hair and pulled him outside onto the deck.

Reid heard Hotch cry out in confusion as he was dragged outside. Spencer tried to get up. "What is he going to do? I told you what you wanted, now leave him alone!"

"You're a liar!" Doyle hit Reid in the face with the back of his hand. Spencer fell onto the deck. "I don't think you are in a position to be giving orders." Doyle answered. "Now you don't need to worry about him any more. He's going over the side."

Reid stood up and tried to push Doyle out of the way.

"No! Please! Don't kill him!" Doyle held Spencer's arms, and he struggled to follow Rossendo. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to beg for Aaron's life. He looked into Doyle's eyes. "Please, don't do it."

Spencer knew he was crying, and he had lost all dignity as he begged for his friend's life, but he was past caring. He pulled against Doyle, and sank to his knees.

"Please, please, don't kill him." The sound of the splash where Aaron's body hit the water, and Reid collapsed onto the floor in front of Doyle. Doyle kicked Reid in the face and he fell onto his back. He lay still staring at the ceiling, tears of grief and heartbreak running from his eyes and into his hair.

"So, now are you going to tell me the truth? Where is the other Fed? Where is he hiding?" Doyle said. "Or you'll be the next one in the water."

Reid looked up at him through tear filled eyes. "Do you really think I care now?" He stared into Doyle's eyes with defiance. "You have just killed the best man I know. Do you think I care what you do to me?"

-0-0-0-

Dave slowly made his way towards the horrible sounds he could hear. He realised that three members of Aaron's team was in his hands, and he had to accept the challenge or die trying. He didn't think that Aaron would make it. He had been poisoned and beaten; a lesser man would have already died. But Aaron had a determination that he hadn't ever seen in another man in all his time working for the FBI. That determination had kept him alive so far. But he was in a bad way, and Dave didn't expect him to be able to carry on for much longer.

He wasn't sure of Reid. He had got to know him quite well in the last few months. He suspected that Reid had deep, some would say inappropriate, feelings for Aaron. He wasn't a strong man physically, but his brain power was something else that he had never seen before. He hoped that it would be enough. He didn't want to survive this alone. That would not be true survival.

He stopped to catch his breath. Bending forwards, holding his arms around his middle, trying not to throw up. He wanted to cough, but it was so important that he didn't make any sound.

There hadn't been any screams or cries now for a while. Dave stood and listened.

A door opened and closed. Dave took a step to the corner and carefully peered round. What he saw made his heart miss a beat.

Rossendo was dragging Aaron over to the side of the boat. Aaron was groaning softly, but wasn't fighting. A smear of blood was left in his wake.

If he went over into the sea, Dave knew he would not survive.

He saw the piece of chair that Reid had been using as a weapon, and he could also see the gun which earlier Hunt had been using. Rossendo had his back to him, and he was getting close to the edge of the boat. Dave had to act now.,

He couldn't get to the gun, but the length of wood was within reach. He dropped to his knees and stretched out for it. Silently picking it up he pulled himself up. Rossendo was out of reach, so Dave had to rush him, hoping he'd get to him before he heard him coming.

Holding the weapon out like a base ball bat, he took two staggering steps forward, and brought it round onto the side of Rossendo's head. With a satisfying grunt, the Spaniard dropped Aaron and fell to his knees. Another whack, and he was on his side, bleeding heavily from the head wound.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Rossi pushed him to the side of the boat and rolled him into the sea. The effort was too much. Dave's head started spinning, and black dots in front of his eyes started to grow and block out his vision, and he collapsed onto the deck next to Aaron.

-0-0-0-

There was a sound in the distance. Doyle heard it first, and at first he thought it could be Timpson, coming to collect the pretty boy. But then he realized it was not a boat, but the sound was coming from overhead, and was more likely to be a helicopter.

Doyle suddenly felt very vulnerable. Turning his back on Reid he ran outside and looked towards the sound. It was definitely a helicopter. Whoever it was, it wasn't one of his.

Then he looked down onto the deck. Rossendo had messed up again. The other Fed was unconscious and he was in a bad way. He poked at Dave with his foot, and there was no reaction. Hotchner wasn't moving either. He drew his gun and returned into the cabin. Reid was kneeling on the deck, head down in submission, "It seems that your elusive Fed has killed Ross." He said to Reid who looked at him in surprise.

"So that was your man going into the sea, and not mine!" Reid said, raising his head. He allowed himself a tiny smile, a sudden rush of adrenalin readying him for a new fight. Aaron could still be alive, and Dave was still fighting! He began to get up. There was still a chance. Then he saw the gun in Doyle's fist. Slowly he raised it to level with Spencer's chest, and in slow motion, squeezed the trigger.

Reid could almost see the air currents around the bullet as it flew towards him, and his reactions were equally slow. As it bore into his chest, his head and arms moved forwards, his hair, flung across his face, his body pushed back, an arc of thick red blood was painted in the air, Reid's back hit the bulkhead behind him and he fell forwards onto the floor. Doyle rushed outside and took cover as the helicopter came closer. He fired frantically into the air as the helicopter hovered directly above the boat

-0-0-0-

"There's the boat!" Emily said, pointing north. Garcia had said there were no other vessels being picked up by satellite. It must be the one.

"Take us down." Morgan said to the pilot.

As they got closer, and they were able to see details of the boat, they could see two bodies on the deck. Emily put a set of binoculars to her eyes.

"Oh god! It's Aaron!" she whispered. Another body was lying close by. She thought it was Rossi, but she couldn't be sure. There was blood everywhere, smeared and pooled on the wooden deck.

As the helicopter came into hover above the boat, several shots whistled past her. Morgan pulled her down.

"This isn't going to be easy." Morgan said.

"We have to hurry, Morgan." She answered. "That is Aaron and I'm fairly sure, it's Dave on the deck, and they're not moving."

Morgan crouched on the floor between the seats. "Can you bring her in closer?" he asked.

The pilot lowered his little aircraft towards the boat.

It was Dave and Aaron lying unmoving on the deck. They could see them clearly now. A third person was crouching beside the bulkhead. As another bullet whistled past, Morgan levelled his gun.


	14. Plans

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 14  
Plans

"_**The best we can do is size up the chances, calculate the risks involved, estimate our ability to deal with them, and then make our plans with confidence." – Henry Ford**_

Morgan aimed for the right chest. He didn't want the UnSub dead; he wanted some questions answered first. The bullet hit him squarely, and he fell back, dropping his gun.

Nothing moved on the boat. No one came out to help the fallen man. Aaron and Dave didn't move; there was no sign of Reid.

"Ok," Morgan called to the pilot. "Take us down as low as you can, Prentiss and I are going to get on board. Get back out of range, I'll let you know what we find, and if we need backup."

The pilot was good – the best in fact. There was short rope ladder on board, but Morgan and Prentiss didn't need it, they jumped the few feet onto the deck, knees bent, weapons in hand, ready for anything. Morgan went straight to the fallen UnSub. Emily went to Aaron and Dave.

"He's alive." Morgan said, picking up his gun, and frisking him quickly.

"Dave and Aaron are alive too." Emily stood. "Where's Reid?"

"Let's clear the cabins, get the situation secure."

Morgan and Emily checked down the sides of the boat – there was no one on the decks that they could see. Morgan kicked open the door to the first cabin. Reid was lying on his back, head and shoulders propped against the bulkhead. He had his hand on a wound in his lower chest, and the blood was pressing through his fingers, a scarlet river running down either side of him, forming a pool on the wooden deck. Reid was watching his blood flow in parallel lines along the grooves between the boards. One hand moved slowly to touch one stream with his finger, damming the stream and watching the blood overflow. He didn't look up as he spoke.

"So dark...so very dark...life flowing away..."

Emily kept them covered while Morgan went to his side.

"Hey kid. It's not flowed away yet. Help is coming."

Reid turned his head in short jerky movements. "Aaron? Dave?"

"Hold on, they are outside, alive. Now shush and you stay with us." Morgan turned to Emily. "Stay with him, while I secure the rest of the area. Watch your back."

Emily nodded, and he left the cabin. Emily went to kneel beside Reid. "I'm going to bring the others in. Don't go any where."

Emily went back out. The UnSub was breathing ragged but strong breaths. She went to Dave first. He was staring up into the early evening sky, blinking at the still bright sun.

"Hey, Rossi, I'm taking you inside now. I will try not to hurt you." She slipped her arms under Dave's body. Dave groaned as his wounds moved and blood started to flow once more.

"It's ok, Rossi, I'm going to make you comfortable." As quickly as she could, she carried him into the cabin and laid him on the bad. Then she went back for Aaron.

"Aaron, Sweetheart, I'm going to get you inside and out of this sun." She could see that Aaron's skin on his chest and back was blistered from the sun. It wasn't until she picked the man off the floor that she saw that he had a gun shot wound. His skin was cool and clammy and looked tight, although his face was cut and swollen, evidence of a severe beating. As she lifted him, his head hung back, his eyes remained closed.

She could smell Gin on him. As she turned to go back into the cabin, Morgan returned.

"Clear." he said, coming straight in to be beside Dave. Emily gently laid Aaron on the bed and touched his face.

"Hey, Sweetie." She said. "It's Emily. You're going to be ok now."

Morgan threw her a look but decided now wasn't the time to explore other people's relationships.

"Have the pilot call for medical back up." Morgan said. "Three injured Agents, all life threatening, and an injured UnSub." There was no room on the helicopter to take the three back. Morgan was worried about moving them. They needed a medical chopper, and one could be there in less than fifteen minutes.

Emily nodded, and took out her cell. She went out and stood on the deck, and called. She could see the chopper in the distance. As she spoke to the pilot, she glanced at the UnSub on the floor. When she thought about what this man had done to her friends and colleagues, and to the man she hoped would some day become her lover, she just wanted to hurt him. But like Morgan said, he could have information that could help them.

She delivered the message to the pilot, and she watched as the chopper disappeared into the clouds that were gathering. She just hoped that the clouds didn't herald a storm. She wasn't so good at sea.

She went into the relative cool of the cabin. Morgan had put Dave on the bed beside Aaron, and Spencer was on the couch. They passed in the doorway as Morgan went out again to bring the UnSub in. He was left on the floor at the edge of the room.

Emily sat on the edge of the bed beside Aaron. She had a cool damp cloth that she had got from the bar, dipping it into the ice bucket. She was gently cooling Aaron's face.

"Hr has a fever." She said to Morgan. "I think he's got an infection in his wound." She reached across and touched Dave's forehead. "So has Dave. They need to be in a hospital. The chopper is sending for medical aid."

Morgan was kneeling astride the UnSub. "Who are you? And what were you going to do?"

Doyle just stared at Morgan. "You shot me, you bastard. I will tell you nothing."

"Doyle...his name's Doyle." Reid whispered from behind him. "They were taking me...to be sold." He paused to catch his breath. "There were some others on board, but I've not seen them. I think Doyle's men may have killed them." Reid closed his eyes and breathed.

"Emily, call Garcia." Morgan said. "Doyle, and known associates. We need anyone of his associates involved in people trafficking."

"Hotch needs water." Reid said his voice almost a whisper. "They made him drink sea water, and alcohol." Reid's eyes were closed, and his lips, bloody and split, were hardly moving. "Thirty nine percent die..." His words faded to nothing. Emily went to the bar and found a bottle of Perrier as she spoke to Garcia.

Holding the cell between her cheek and shoulder, she lifted Aaron from the bed, and slowly tipped a little water onto his lips. "Come on, Honey, take a drink."

He opened his mouth a little, and licked his lips. "Hey, that's good." She said. "No not you, Pen. Hotch is taking a drink. Do you have anything?"

Emily was quiet for a while, and listened to her friend. "Thank you. If you get anything else,...ok, bye." She looked up at Morgan, who was checking on Dave. "Someone called Trader. Deals in white males, sells them to Arabs, or gives as gifts. Most are not seen again."

Morgan went back to Doyle, stood astride him, and pulled him up with his clothes. "Ok, creep. You planning on a rendezvous with Trader?"

Doyle didn't say anything. Morgan cocked his gun and placed it almost casually on the side of Doyle's throat. "I don't want to ask the same question twice, so talk, or I will remove your talking mechanism."

"Y-yes, nine o'clock, he's bringing his boat here." Doyle looked pale, though Morgan didn't know if it was his injury or the gun in his neck that had caused it. He twisted the barrel onto Doyle's skin, making him yelp. "How do you contact him?" Morgan asked, giving the gun a little push to remind him what the consequences on not speaking would be.

"The radio." He said, trying to pull away. "The radio down stairs."

"Ok," Morgan said. "I am going to take you to the radio, and you are going to put him off for three hours. You will meet him at midnight now."

Doyle shook his head. "I c-can't..." he began.

"I think you c-can." Morgan said to him. "Get up."

He 'helped' Doyle onto his feet none too gently, and pushed him ahead of him. "You have a call to make."

-0-0-0-

Morgan sat Doyle in front of the radio.

"What shall I tell him?"

"I'm sure you will think of something. How about engine trouble?"

Doyle nodded and made the call."Yes. Three hours. The engines are playing up. Bjorn is...yes he's here, he's down stairs fixing at the moment...midnight, yes. ...see you then." He cut the communication.

Morgan dragged him back out. "Well done. You earn not being shot yet." He said. He took Doyle to the galley where there was a bolted down table. He took the cuffs off the back of his belt and cuffed him to the table. Using a tea towel, he gagged him and left him lying on the galley floor.

Morgan got a call on his cell as he made his way back to the others. The Medics were almost there to take the injured to hospital. Morgan had decided that Doyle was going to stay with him. He was going to need him if he was going to get Trader. He stood outside in the cooling air and looked for the air ambulance. It was getting dark now, and he could see the light in the distance. There was a hose attached to a pump on the deck. Morgan switched it on, and hosed the blood into the sea. He didn't want to arouse the suspicions of Trader when he drew alongside in four hours time.

The light was closer now. Morgan turned on the lights on the deck to make it easier for the ambulance to find them. He felt profound relief as the Chopper descended towards them, and he could see the medics on board ready to get on the boat. He also saw two others. They were the first to jump down onto the deck.

"Detective Eliot Sutton, and my partner Detective Ricky Bate, Miami Dade Police. We're here as back up. We've been after the Trader for a long time. This is the closest we've got to him."

Morgan shook hands briefly, and led the 'medics to his injured team members. Emily stood back reluctantly as they set up an IV and carried Aaron to the chopper.

"You can go with him." Morgan said.

"I'm staying. He's in the best hands." Morgan smiled at her back as she followed them out. Morgan went to the chopper with Reid and Rossi.

"Hang on you two. I'm going to need you later." He gave their hands a squeeze. He felt a rush of relief when Dave squeezed back. It was the first response he had given. Reid turned to face him.

"We'll be fine." He whispered. "Just get them..."

Morgan nodded, and turned his back as the chopper lifted up into the air. He put an arm around Emily and they went back into the cabin.

"Ok," Morgan said. "Let's get this boat out of the area. We don't want to engage Trader before we are ready."

"I'll drive." Emily said. "I learned to do this when I was a teenager." She hurried out. Morgan sat at a table with Sutton and Bate. "We need a plan."


	15. The Trap

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 15  
The trap

"_**One had better die fighting against injustice than die like a dog or a rat in a trap." – Ida B Wells**_

It always upset Emma when no one could travel with her patient to the hospital. Patients were always calmer and more relaxed when they had a familiar voice to keep them company. She had often been on the team bringing in injured FBI agents, and she understood that it wasn't always possible. On these occasions, like today, she put herself in the role of comforter. She sat between two of the men, and held their hands. One of her patients, the younger dark haired man, had badly hurt hands. His fingers were curled inwards like claws, and as the blood dried, so his fingers bent further in. She rested her hand on the back of his. The other man had a gunshot wound to his right hand. She held his left. Although the man, Dave, was unconscious, she felt his fingers curl around hers. She called over her colleague to sit with the other man.

"I don't want them to feel alone." She said with a small smile. "Talk to him."

Surinder held Reid's hand. And started to talk to him. He had been conscious when he was lifted into the chopper, but had fallen asleep. He had a gunshot wound to the chest, and some blunt force trauma to the head and face. The bleeding had been stopped, but Emma thought he might need surgery for a cracked zygomatic bone and a dislocated patella. His nose was probably broken. Poor guy, she thought, such a cute face too.

She checked out the two she was sitting with. The guy with the Italian eyes on her right was breathing steadily, although his resps were low, around eight to ten. She put an O₂ mask on him so that his breaths, although low, would take enough oxygen. He had bad damage to his right hand, but she checked movement, and she thought with physio he could possibly get full use back. The man was a cop. He needed his hand to work properly. His wrists were deeply cut most of the way around, as if restraints had been too tight. But it was the through and through gun shot wound that concerned her. The small entry wound just below his ribs looked clean, but the skin around the exit wound on his back was hot and red and inflamed. There was definitely an infection. She cooled his face with a cloth, which she had wrapped around an ice pack. His eyes moved beneath his eye lids, and she was glad to see such movement.

"You are on your way to hospital, Dave." She said gently. "You are going to be fine. You had a good friend here watching you."

Dave's eyes fluttered open and she saw as he focussed on her. "Aaron Hotchner was the best friend I could ever have had." His voice was low and faint, and he struggled to speak. But what he had to say was important. Tears welled up in his eyes. "I will have to tell his son about how he gave everything to keep his team together. He was a brave and good man."

Emma rested a cool hand on his face. "You haven't lost him, Dave. He is right here with us."

Dave tried to sit up. "He's not...he's alive?" She noticed that the tears were coming more quickly now. Dave unashamedly wept for his friend. "Oh god, he's alive!"

"Lay down Dave; and yes, he is alive." She smiled at him and gently but firmly pushed him down. "Now you rest, and I'll check him over."

Dave closed his eyes again. Aaron was going to be ok.

Aaron. That was this man's name. He was deeply unconscious. She held his hands in hers, palms up. There was very little skin on the insides of his fingers and palms; it looked like rope burns. He had blunt force trauma to the head in several places and his ear was split and bloody, and his face showed signs of a beating – swollen eyes and cuts to his cheeks and lips. And he had been shot in the back; the bullet was still inside him. She took his temperature which came back as 104°. He was very hot, and was in danger of convulsing. With a high sodium and blood alcohol, she needed to get water into him quickly.

She inserted a wide bore IV in each wrist, careful not to touch the damage to his hands. She stroked his face and talked gently to him, wondering at the darkness of his hair against the pale skin.

"Aaron, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me." She said softly. "Let me see those eyes."

Slowly Aaron fluttered his eyes and opened them a little. She touched his face with her hand.

"That's good, Aaron. Now try and keep awake." She placed an oxygen mask on his nose and mouth.

Aaron's eyes rolled upwards, and he was taken by a seizure. Emma held his shoulders to stop him from falling off the gurney, blood ran from his mouth as his teeth bit into his tongue, then suddenly, he stopped moving. The oscilloscope connected to Aaron's chest fell into a continuous tone.

"Crash!" she shouted to Surinder, who was beside before the word's echo had ended.

Spencer sat up and made an attempt at getting off the gurney before he realised he was strapped down across his hips.

"Aaron? Is he...oh god! You have to save him..." Spencer was struggling against the restraints. Surinder turned to him.

"Dr Reid, lie down. I can't work on your friend if I'm worrying about you!"

"Please, let me up!" But it was too late. All their attention was on Aaron, as they applied the paddles to his chest.

It was as if the gods had slowed down time, just to eke out the fear. In slow motion, Aaron's broken body arched as the current passed through him. Spencer saw the blood under him, he watched as it dripped from his back. He couldn't hear what was being said, but when Aaron lifted from the gurney a second time, and a third, he started to panic. He reached down to the clasp on the strap around his hips and undid it, and turning sideways, he stood up.

Immediately his world began to spin and he thought he would fall. He gripped the sides of the gurney. That was when Aaron's heart kicked in again, and the wonderful rhythmic sound of the monitor started up again.

Crying with relief, he sat down, and lifted his legs back onto the gurney and lay down again. He pressed his hands against his eyes, and thought for a moment what he would have done if Aaron had died right next to him, and he felt sick. Surinder was sitting next to him again.

"Thank you for saving him." Reid said, sincerity and tears filling his eyes.

"Is he your partner?" Surinder asked.

"We're not lovers." Spencer said. "But I do love him." He took Surinder's dark hand in his pale one and smiled weakly at the paramedic. "And thank you."

-0-0-0-

Ok, now they had a plan. They had to get Trader actually 'trading', so they had to be careful not to jump in too quick. Detective Bate would stand in for Reid, being the youngest, and they thought, the prettiest. (Ricky wasn't too happy about this designation, but in the interests of justice!...) Eliot would meet Trader and take him to Doyle, who would be in the cabin, and Doyle would hand over Bate. When the money changed hands, then Morgan and the two MDPD detectives would move in for the arrest.

They were at the rendezvous point fifteen minutes before midnight. Doyle was sitting in the cabin, wearing a dressing gown and smoking. His chest wound was bandaged, to stop the blood from showing. Ricky was cuffed to a chair opposite him. Eliot was standing by the door watching for Trader's boat, and Morgan was crouched in a corner, gun pulled ready.

It was a very long fifteen minutes, but Trader was there exactly on time. He came aboard on his own – he had traded with Doyle before, and had no reason not to trust, although he was a little bit on edge because of the delay. He was alert, hypervigilant.

"Who the hell are you?" was the first thing he said. Eliot told him he was new on Doyle's team, and he seemed to be ok with that. He asked where Bjorn was.

"Down tuning the engines." Eliot said. "Been trouble all the way."

"I was going to buy him once, until I realised how old he was!" Trader said, a giggle in his voice. Eliot felt the bile rising. What a disgusting man this was!

Trader followed Eliot into the cabin. Doyle was sitting in a swivel chair and he turned it to face his purchaser.

"You have the money?"

"I need to see the goods first." Trader said. "You know that!"

Doyle indicated the restrained man opposite him. Trader went round the table and examined the goods, pulling at his hair, checking his teeth and biceps.

"Not as pretty as I thought." He said, pleasing Ricky very much. "I'll have to knock ten percent off the price."

"Five." Doyle came back. Trader made to leave. "Ok, ten! Man you drive a hard bargain."

"I'll get the cash." Trader said, and left the cabin. The boat rocked as he stepped onto his own boat. The four men sat and waited.

"Is this normal?" hissed Morgan from his hiding place.

"He usually has the cash on him." Doyle said. "But he's probably spooked by the delay. He's a cautious man." He put the key to the cuffs on the table. "I don't feel so good." Doyle said huskily. "I'm going to be sick."

Eliot took a place by the door. "You had better not be." He said. "Just hold out for a few more minutes, or you're a dead man."

"It hurts...going to throw up..." and before anyone could do anything, Doyle threw up on the deck, clutching his chest, where blood was running freely through his fingers.

The boat rocked again. Trader was back.

_Oh crap! Now what?_

-0-0-0-

Emily sat by the steering controls. She had her gun on her belt, and was ready to use it. She and Morgan had decided that she should keep out of the way. Doyle didn't work with women...not this kind of work anyway. But Emily was uneasy. She felt the boat rock as Trader got back on the boat, and she took her gun in her hand. She crept out of the control room and silently moved to Doyle's cabin, just in case.

The sudden burst of gunfire made her jump, even though she was ready for it. She crouched down and ran towards the source of the sound.


	16. Recovery

**THE COLLECTION  
**Chapter 16  
Recovery

"_**Friendships are what our dreams are made of. We hold onto each other with its binding love. We stand close to each other, hand in hand, showing each other we understand. Some friends may come and go, but you are the truest friend I know" ANON**_

It was very quiet. Emily crept up to the cabin door, and leaned back against the wall next to it. She closed her eyes and listened. That was when she heard the gun; that all too familiar sound of a bullet entering a firing chamber. She leaned towards the door and looked in.

Doyle was lying with his head on the table – or what was left of his head anyway. Detective Bate was still cuffed to the chair, but the chair was on its back, and the young detective had a hole blown in his chest. Sutton was face down on the deck. He had been shot in the back. And two men, whom she had never seen before, Trader's men, were lying dead.

Morgan was sitting propped against a wall, behind him a smear of blood showed where he had slid down. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was loud and coming in short bubbly gasps.

And the gun she had heard? It was being held by another man that she didn't know. The barrel of the shotgun was in Morgan's face.

"Open your filthy mouth, pig."

Emily quietly walked up to the man and put her hand gun on the back of his neck.

"I suggest you put down the gun, or I will remove the connection between your head and shoulders."

The man visibly jumped, and started to turn around.

"Stand quite still, and drop the gun on the floor." He opened his hand, and the shotgun clattered to the floor. Slowly he raised his hands.

Emily kicked the shotgun out of the way. "Hands behind your head." She said, her gun still pressed into the back of his neck. He complied, and she took the cuffs from her belt, and one at a time brought his hands down and cuffed them together. She swung him round and shoved him against the bulk head.

"Are you Trader, or is he one of those two?" She indicated the two fallen men nearer the door. Her captive didn't speak. His look of defiance would have challenged even Aaron...

Her stomach clenched thinking about him. She pushed the thought out of her mind.

Bending down, her gun not wavering, she detached Morgan's cuffs from his belt and pushed the man towards the door.

"Get outside." She said, and the man stepped over the bodies on the floor and went onto the deck. She made him sit with his legs either side of an upright railing, and she cuffed his ankles together. She quickly frisked him, and went back to Morgan.

He was still sitting with his eyes closed.

"Derek? You ok?" She checked his pulse, strong and even. "Morgan, open your eyes for me...look at me."

Morgan's eyes opened slowly, and he searched for her. "I'm ok." He said with difficulty. "You need to secure the other boat."

"Was that Trader with his gun in your face?" she asked. "He's outside, cuffed to the railing."

Morgan nodded. "They just crashed in and opened fire...too quick..." He took her arm. "The others?"

"Doyle's dead. I think Bate and Sutton are too. I need to check them, and call for backup and an ambulance." She went to check. The two detectives were dead; Sutton had been shot in the back probably as he led Trader and his men to Doyle. Bate had been shot in the chest, the force throwing his chair back. Emily sadly went into the adjoining bedroom and pulled sheets off the bunk. She brought them back in and covered the two men. Trader's men, Morgan had shot. They both had bullets to the heart. She left them as they were.

Morgan attempted to stand. Emily put her hand out to stop him, but he brushed her hand aside.

"I'll come with you to secure Trader's boat. We can...tow it back to Miami."

With eyes filled with determination, he pulled himself onto his feet. He had been shot in the shoulder, and Emily noticed that the bullet was lodged in the bulkhead.

He stood swaying for a moment, then he said, "Let's go."

She followed Morgan out into the night. Morgan glanced at the man sitting on the floor. "That's Trader." He said.

He stepped onto the other boat, and Emily followed. One by one, they went through the boat, guns ready and waiting. From what they had seen so far, these men were ruthless. Doyle, Emily thought, was like one of Trader's own, and yet they killed him with impunity. Morgan cleared each room, Emily watching his back.

There was no-one on board. It had already been lashed to the side of Doyle's boat. They went into another cabin, and Morgan laid on the bed, breathing heavily, clearly exhausted,

"Take us to Miami." Morgan said, as Emily got him a bottle of Perrier. By the time she had opened it and held it out to him, he was asleep. She put the bottle next to him, and made her way to the control room. On the way she called Miami Dade PD. She wanted them to know right away about their men, and to have an ambulance waiting at the harbour. Whatever Morgan said, he was going to hospital.

-0-0-0-

As the ambulance came in to land, Aaron's blood pressure dropped again, and his heart trembled in his chest. Emma readied the paddles, Surinder pumped his chest.

"Come on, not now!" he said to Aaron. He felt a rib grind against bone as he pressed down. His skin was red and blistered. Spencer looked over. He didn't try to get u this time, he just watched as the two 'medics fought for his life again

Dave was almost asleep, but was trying to stay awake. He turned his head anxiously and watched as his friend struggled to live. Dave had been given pain killers, and that plus his injuries and dehydration, had made him sleepy. But while Aaron was unconscious, he felt it was his responsibility to stay awake. Although it was getting harder to do so by the second.

The ambulance touched down, and the doors were opened. Surinder climbed onto Aaron, and sat astride him, continuing the chest compressions as he was taken quickly from the ambulance and through double doors at the edge of the roof. Spencer lay still, watching Aaron being taken from his view, and possibly his life. As the doors shut behind them, he looked straight up. He couldn't bear this. His heart was breaking. Again, he could be losing him, and he still hadn't told him.

Another team of doctors got into the ambulance. Dave's gurney was unclipped, and they began to wheel him away. As he passed Spencer, he reached out and touched his hand. Spencer looked at him.

"You are in love with him, aren't you?" Dave said. Spencer blanched.

"H-how did..." he stammered.

"I'm a profiler. Remember?" Dave whispered. "And so is Aaron."

Dave was wheeled away towards the double doors, and then Spencer was taken out of the ambulance.

_...and so is Aaron..._

Spencer grabbed hold of one of the medics who were pushing him.

"Is Aaron ok?" he asked. "Aaron Hotchner. I need to know. Is he ok?"

"I don't know. I'll find out as soon as I can."

"I need to see him. Please, take me straight to him."

"I need you to stay calm and lie down." The medic said, resting a gentle but firm hand on his chest. "I'll find out what I can, but I need you to try and relax. You will recover more quickly if you just lie down."

Reid lay back and watched then ceiling lights rush by him as he was taken to the emergency room.

-0-0-0-

Surinder got off the gurney and a doctor replaced him. This was where the paramedics handed over their patients. He stood with Emma and watched them take him into the ER.

"Don't let him die!" Emma called after them. She knew that it was an unnecessary thing to say. If saving him was possible, he would be. But she had to say it. It was almost like a charm, a kind of OCD. If a patient died and she hadn't said it...well logically, her saying that made not one iota of difference. But she wanted this man – all three of them in fact – to live. Surinder put his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, Em. Let me buy you a coffee."

-0-0-0-

Aaron didn't want to die. There were still things he needed to do. His little boy – how could he leave his Jacky? He had too much left to say. And Dave. An old friend who had just come back to be part of his life again. Their relationship was different now, closer, more like 'mates'.

And then there was Spencer. Oh Spencer. Aaron knew what Spencer thought about him. The little smiles, the way his face lit up when he came into the room, the way he allowed his hand to linger just that little bit longer than was necessary. Aaron also knew that Spencer would never say or do anything about it, and nor would he.

Lying there, cradled in the gentle arms of oblivion, he thought about whether these things made life was worth fighting for. He could feel the pressure on his chest, he was aware of needles in his arms, and the mask on his face. He knew his hands were injured, and his skin sunburnt.

Nothing hurt; it was just a vague distant awareness. His body was still, in a kind of limbo. No heart beat, no breathing.

People were calling his name, telling him that he needed to live.

He felt cold steel cut into his chest. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he tried to pull away.

-0-0-0-

"Get those internal defibs charged! Quickly!"

"Charging twenty." The paddles were thrust into his chest and his heart gripped gently between them.

The small charge passed through his heart muscle. The team waited, watching the monitor. Suddenly, it jumped. There was a sound of relieved sighing in the room.

"Normal rhythm restored."

"Ok, take bloods for U&E, sugar, full count, and LFT, cardiac enzymes, and get the biochemistry tech on call to do an urgent blood gasses. Six hundred milligrams procaine amide by IV. Fifteen minute obs, and U&E every hour"

A chart was put in front of him, and he quickly scanned it and signed. He looked at his houseman. "Ok, close now please."

Geiger pulled off his gloves, and gown, and threw them in the bin as he passed. That was close. He didn't like it being that close. He needed coffee.

-0-0-0-

Reid was propped up on his bed. It had been twenty four hours since they had been rushed through those doors on the roof, and still he hadn't seen Aaron or Dave. They were both in high dependency, and although both still critical, they were stable and Spencer was desperate to get to see them. The doctor had said that if he had three sets of obs in the normal range, he could visit. So far, there had been two. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to go.

He closed his eyes. If he got too excited, his blood pressure would go up, and he'd be back to square one.

Morgan peeped around the door. He had his arm in a sling, but other than that, he looked as fit as ever. Not that he could look pale anyway, but...Spencer smiled at him. "Have you been to see Hotch and Rossi?"

Morgan nodded. "Yep, and both are doing really well." He said. "Hotch has been asking for you."

Reid's face lit up. "I really want to see them." He said.

The nurse came in with the paraphernalia that Reid had associated with having his obs done. "If these readings are ok, you get to visit your friends." She said.

Spencer stuck his arm out nervously. Morgan laughed.

Five minutes later Reid was in a wheel chair in the lift with Morgan. Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation.

"Aaron...erm...Hotch has been asking for me?"

"Yes he has. He's as anxious to see you as you are to see him."

The life shuddered to a stop, and Morgan wheeled Spencer through the doors of the HDU. Spencer wanted to leap out of the chair and run to him, but he maintained decorum, and allowed Morgan to wheel the chair between Rossi and Hotch.

"Hey! Hotch." Spencer said, and although Aaron's eyes stayed closed, he smiled and turned his head.

"Hey! Spencer." He whispered, and moved his hand to reach for him.

-0-0-0-

**END**

**A/N PanicButton, my dear sister, wanted me to write a story where no-one whimpers, and Aaron doesn't get raped. Well, I did it, although it was a close call in a couple of places.  
I would like to thank my reviewers – SR-71A, Sue1313, grey-eyed-goddess, TheLoveThief, Tellygirl, numb3rslover, Tearbos, hotchner, and PanicButton. Love you all!  
More torture and angst on its merry way. Until tomorrow, take care and I love you all!**


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